Harry Potter and the Concept of Freedom
by redrew89
Summary: The Dark Lord is defeated, and Harry Potter is hailed as a hero by the wizarding community. However, when a mysterious stranger appears, warning of more dark times ahead, The Chosen One must decide whether or not to act. Harry finds himself plunged into a world of political intrigue, where the lines are blurred, and nothing is sacred. [REVISION FINISHED! HURRAH! STILL SEEKING BETA]
1. Chapter 1

Legal Disclaimer:

Section 1. Ownership

This work of fiction consists of characters, settings and other plot elements from the_ Harry Potter_ series, written by J.K. Rowling. The author of this work of fiction claims no ownership of the properties of J.K. Rowling, and Warner Bros. Entertainment. The author's only claim pertains to the plot, as well as original characters created by the author.

Section 2. Permission

The author has thus far given permission for this fiction to be made available on the following site(s):

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Other webmasters, hosts and content providers are welcome to host this fiction, provided that they contact the author beforehand. Please note that the author reserves the right to revoke hosting permission to any content provider, for any reason whatsoever. The author may, at some point after the completion of this work, choose to make the fiction available via distributed file sharing networks, in non-editable format.

Content Advisory:

The narrative of this fiction may contain content that is not suitable for young readers. Throughout the story there may be references to the following:

Alcohol, Drug and Tobacco Use

Sexual Innuendo

Acts of Terrorism

Depictions of Violence and Warfare

Reader discretion is advised. No reader under the age of 13 should be permitted to view this fiction without adult guidance.

Harry Potter and the Concept of Freedom

By ReDrew89

Act I

Chapter I

Of Dreams and Memories

For the first time in years, Harry Potter's dreams were not filled with images of Lord Voldemort's thoughts and memories. He was standing on a hill top, over-looking wide, sweeping plains; the sun setting over the distant horizon. He was alone, and he felt such a warmth and comfort within him as he stared at the bands of scarlet and gold, fading into a deep purple night sky. A gentle breeze stirred around him, and he was no longer alone. He felt it before he saw her, his mother, warm and alive, by his side. He turned and looked into her eyes, a mirror of his own. And she spoke.

"Harry, you are so brave," she whispered, and Harry was aware of another presence. His father was now standing on his other side, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"You've done remarkably well, my son," he said, and Harry turned to face him.

"It's over now," said Harry. "I'm finally free, aren't I?"

"Yes," said Lily, "Free to live your own life. We will watch over you always, Harry. Don't be sad for us anymore. Please, no matter what, always be that happy boy we fought to protect."

Harry felt his mother's lips against his cheek, and a tear fell from his eyes. He wasn't sad. Quite the opposite, he felt such peace within him that he had not felt in living memory.

"Now," said Lily. "Open your eyes, and begin your new life."

When Harry opened his eyes, he found himself in his familiar four-poster bed in Gryffindor Tower. He stretched and sighed, and looked out the window over the grounds. The normally pristine lawn was still scarred from the previous night's battle. The bodies were gone, but his mind could still see them scattered among the rubble, countless friends lost. He brushed the thought aside, as he turned his eyes upward toward the forest, and the horizon beyond. It had been after dawn, when Harry had retired to rest in his old home, but he was still somewhat surprised to find that it was nearly nightfall. He set about dressing himself, suddenly aware of how tight and painful his muscles were. He made a mental note to take it easy for the next few weeks, before setting to what he would do next. And then another thought struck him, as he pulled a sweater over his head.

_What do I do, now?_

The answer was not readily available, but he knew one thing. Whatever he did from this point onward, it would most certainly be with Ginny. This was the thought that warmed him from within, like Butterbeer. _Ginny_. With Voldemort finally beaten, he and Ginny were free to be together. The prospect was intoxicating, and he nearly laughed aloud. He, Harry Potter, who had previously charged into so many terribly dangerous tasks and situations, was now planning for _his_ future. The idea would have seemed preposterous had it occurred to him hours earlier, especially given that he had considered himself destined to die. Harry felt his insides squirm at that recollection. Now knowing that he had been host to a piece of Voldemort's soul almost made him feel unclean, and he pushed that thought aside with so much force that he cried aloud with shock when the door behind him opened.

"Oi!" said the voice of Ronald Weasley, a look of concern on his face as he stepped fully into the dormitory, "Sorry to startle you, mate. I was just coming up to check on you. Professor McGonagall wants to see you."

"I'm okay, Ron," said Harry, smiling despite himself, "I guess I'm just a bit jumpy…"

"Yeah, can't blame you," said Ron, "Everyone's still a bit on edge. Mum's been acting like I might disappear again if I leave her sight for more than five minutes. But, given what's happened…" He trailed off. Painfully, the memory of Fred, lying cold on the stone of the Great Hall, came back to Harry. He still felt partially responsible, and he wished he could think of some way to repay that deepest debt. However, he also knew that Fred had given himself willingly to defend his loved ones, in just the same way that Harry had, when he had ventured into the Forbidden Forest alone that previous night.

"How are you, Ron?" Harry asked, again steering his thoughts away from darker places, "I feel awful about what happened… I just wish-"

"Don't," said Ron, stiffly, "It's not your fault, and don't think otherwise for a minute. Fred knew what he was doing. We all did. Now that it's over, we can pick up the pieces," Ron looked at Harry for a moment, a curious look on his face, "It _is_ over, right?" His eyes darted to Harry's forehead.

"Yeah, it's over," said Harry, firmly, and they left Gryffindor Tower together.

Harry and Ron walked down the corridors of Hogwarts, which were still in various states of damage from the battle. They made their way to what Harry guessed would be the Headmistress's Office. Now that Snape was dead, by Voldemort's own command, Professor McGonagall would have succeeded him as Head of the school. As they walked, Harry spotted several groups of wizards and witches, many of them familiar, making their way past.

"They're working on rebuilding," said Ron, when Harry had asked what they were doing, "McGonagall and Kingsley have set up a volunteer effort to help repair things from last night. Nearly everyone who showed up to fight has stayed to help fix the school. Hermione is still cleaning up in-"

"The Library," Harry finished, smiling to himself, as he imagined the state his other best friend must be in, trying to help a flustered Madam Pince re-catalogue the schools extensive collection. He almost wanted to join her, if only for something to do. This brought him back to that same question.

"So, what do you think we'll do now? I mean, now that Voldemort is gone, we can do whatever we like, right?"

"Yeah, I suppose," Ron he nodded toward a worn, but cheerful-looking Seamus Finnigan as they passed, "I mean, there's going to be the funeral for Fred. Then Hermione needs to go abroad the find her parents."

"Oh yeah," said Harry, feeling foolish for having forgotten about the Grangers-alias-Wilkins's, living somewhere in Australia. "I could go along if she likes, I mean, it would be kind of like a holiday, I guess."

"Well, see…" said Ron, as his ears darkened slightly. "I kinda thought it could just be her and I, you know? Time for the two of us, if you know what I mean."

"Oh, of course," said Harry, feeling even more foolish, "I mean, that's fine, I don't mind, I just… I dunno, I haven't really decided what I'm going to do with myself, now."

"I'm sure you'll be able to stay busy," said Ron, smiling, "You're the hero, now, after all. The Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the Master of Death. You've got more titles than Dumbledore, at this rate."

"Knock it off," said Harry, rolling his eyes.

"Well, it's true," said Ron, with a chuckle. "There won't be a single person in the country now, who won't want to meet the Great Harry Potter."

"Well, I've had enough hero worship," said Harry, "And besides they can ask anyone that was here about how I killed off Voldemort. There were only about – what, a couple hundred people watching, right?"

Ron gave another small chuckle, as they reached the stone gargoyle that stood guard outside the spiral staircase leading to the new Headmistress's office. It had been fully repaired from the previous night, yet it still seemed a bit bedraggled as Ron gave it the password.

"Dumbledore," he said, and Harry suddenly realized that the password hadn't yet been changed. This realization made him think of Severus Snape, which made him realize that, apart from the usual loathing he felt with respect to Snape, he now felt something different; part pity and part gratitude. He didn't know at all how to voice this to Ron, and it was too late then, as he was now speeding off in the direction of the library, shouting that he didn't fancy being jinxed by his mother, nor Hermione, in post-war nerves. Trying to straighten his thoughts, Harry stepped onto the spiral staircase, and was swept smoothly upward.

The Headmaster's Office looked much like it had in the days of Albus Dumbledore, not that Harry had expected otherwise. When he was beckoned through the oaken doors, he was greeted by the sounds of the numerous contraptions that Dumbledore had always liked to keep. He allowed himself a moment to take it all in, before taking note of who was present. Minerva McGonagall was seated behind the large wooden desk, rifling through various bits of parchment, while Kingsley Shacklebolt stood near one of the far windows, seemingly lost in thought as he stared out into the grounds. As the door shut behind him, both looked toward Harry.

"Ah, Mister Potter," said McGonagall, and for the first time in Harry's life, he noticed an air of distinct fatigue in his old Transfiguration teacher. "Well, take a seat. We'll try to make this brief then, shall we?"

"Indeed," said Kingsley, who looked equally, if not more worn-down, "I'm due back at the Ministry before long, and I'll have to speak with the Muggle Prime Minister, as soon as possible."

"Very well, then," said McGonagall, and Harry was distinctly aware of how the two of them seemed to be surveying Harry, with equal parts concern and apprehension.

"Right," he said, feeling slightly uneasy, "What can I do for you, then?"

"Well, if you don't mind, Mister Potter, we have a few questions for you, regarding last night's events. But, first, I think it deserves to be asked, what is it that you have been doing these past seven months? I've already asked Mister Weasley and Miss Granger and they've explicitly told me to refer to you on the matter," Professor McGonagall seemed rather flustered by the lack of information she had been given. This momentarily surprised Harry, and he glanced up at the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, which had appeared to have been sleeping up until this point. However, he distinctly saw Dumbledore briefly open his eyes and wink, before promptly resuming his feigned slumber.

"Now that Voldemort is gone, I think it may be safe to share the secret, that, up until now, had been strictly between Dumbledore, myself, and of course, Ron and Hermione," Harry was speaking very carefully, still glancing up at Dumbledore's portrait. It made no indication that Harry should stop talking, so he continued, "It seems that, during his time at Hogwarts, Tom Riddle came across a powerful and dangerous magic; Horcrux." At the word, McGonagall's eyes widened and the color drained from her face. Kingsley seemed to sway slightly at the thought, as well.

"Horcrux?" whispered McGonagall, "And you found it? Destroyed it? That's what Albus put you up to?"

"Yes, and there wasn't just one, but several. Voldemort sought to make himself immortal by creating several horcruxes hidden in locations he imagined only he would know. Dumbledore had asked me to find and destroy these horcruxes, so that one might stand a chance at killing Voldemort himself, when the time came."

"I see," said Professor McGonagall, now seeming to regain some of her lost composure, "That's quite the task, indeed. That explains some of the incredible things I've heard."

"Like breaking into Gringott's," said Kingsley, with a slight chuckle, "You might want to keep an eye out for that. I may be Minister for now, but I can't promise that someone from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement won't be asking you about that, perhaps sooner than I'd like."

"Really?" said Harry, feeling irritated, "After I went through all the trouble of getting rid of Voldemort, you'd think the goblins would be a bit more grateful," Harry recalled the warning that Bill Weasley had given him previously, on the matter of goblins' perception of ownership and payment.

"I can tell you that they aren't happy," said Kingsley, "They want you locked in Azkaban, even despite this past night's events, but I'll see if I can't talk them down a bit. Did you actually use the Imperius Curse on one of theirs?"

"As much as I regret admitting it, yes, I did," said Harry, his irritation intensifying, "I had no choice in the matter, it was crucial that I got into the Lestrange vault to retrieve one of those horcruxes."

Kingsley looked somewhat shocked by the admission, but seemed to shrug it off, saying, "I imagine they're more upset about the dragon you set loose on them, but I'll just keep that between us. Otherwise you might be called into a full Wizengamot over it, and I'm sure you aren't in the mood for it."

Harry felt somewhat glad that he and Kingsley knew each other well, and that Kingsley was now Minister of Magic. Having connections in such high places would be helpful in the coming weeks, what with goblins screaming for his blood in a solid platinum goblet.

"Thank you, Kingsley," he said, "For what it's worth; I plan to live a nice quiet life, from now on. No more bank robbing."

"I'll count on it," said Kingsley, before turning to Professor McGonagall, "I best be off, then. Send me an owl tomorrow morning," And, with that, he strode toward the fireplace, pulled a handful of Floo powder from a pocket in his robes, tossed it into the flames, and was swept off in a roar of green fire.

"Now, Mister Potter; about last night," Professor McGonagall was giving Harry one of her piercing gazes.

"What would you like to know?" asked Harry, feeling rather cheerful, despite himself. He couldn't say exactly what he felt, but he wondered if it was perhaps a bit of pride.

"In short, everything," said McGonagall, her voice regaining its usual crispness, "However, we'll start from the beginning. How is it you managed to find your way into the school, last evening? From what I understand, all entries into the castle and grounds have been blocked. I assume it has something to do with Mister Longbottom, based on what your friends told me."

"Yes," said Harry, "but I'm afraid you may want to speak with him about that. I don't quite know the full details on how he managed it. If it puts you at ease, it was the result of magic that has existed at this school for generations, and is not likely to be harmful, from this point onward."

"That does help somewhat," said McGonagall, who seemed to be rather bemused by Harry's cryptic nature, "Now, for the next matter, why were you in Ravenclaw Tower? I understand you were searching for an artifact that had belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw, but I can't think of anything other than—"

"Rowena Ravenclaw's Lost Diadem?" supplied Harry, amusing himself further with McGonagall's look of shocked interest, "Yes, that would be the item I was looking for, and it wasn't as lost as many seemed to think. Voldemort had found it, several years ago, and he had hidden it here in the castle. Rest assured, it has been found, and destroyed, as with every other wayward fragment of the Dark Lord's soul."

"I see…" said McGonagall, looking less bemused now, and more so disappointed. "Such a fantastic piece of Hogwarts history, it's a shame it had to be destroyed."

"Yes, as unfortunate as it was, the diadem would have done no one any good, especially in the state that Voldemort had left it in," said Harry, trying not to seem like he was talking down to his former professor.

"Of course," McGonagall seemed preoccupied with her thoughts. "Was it the last Horcrux?"

"No," said Harry, uncertainly, his eyes darting back up toward Dumbledore's portrait. He had abandoned all pretense of sleeping, now, and was watching the conversation with quiet interest, "There were more, but they have also been destroyed," Now, Dumbledore's portrait spoke.

"If you wish, Harry," he said, "You may tell her the secret that I had kept from you for so long. It was unfair of me to keep it from you, but I felt you might exhibit even more than your usual recklessness."

"Secret?" said McGonagall, her interest sharpening as she glanced at her departed colleague's likeness, "I daresay there are more secrets between you and the boy, Albus?"

"None that are of major concern, Minerva," said Dumbledore, "Apart from what you are about to hear. Go ahead and tell her, Harry."

"Right," said Harry, uncertainly, "It seems that, the night Voldemort killed my parents, something happened." Harry paused again. He felt a curious sensation in his gut as he attempted to find the next words. "A part of his soul detached from the whole, or at least what had been left of it, and latched onto me. This is why I've had such a powerful connection to him. I've been able to see into his mind, and feel what he felt. It was suggested that I had to sacrifice myself, in order to ensure that Voldemort would be mortal again."

It felt like a heavy weight had been unloaded from Harry's shoulders, as he had told McGonagall this horrifying truth. The look on her face was equal parts revulsion and concern. She looked at Harry intently, for several minutes, before speaking.

"So, you went into the Forbidden Forest, to face Voldemort, knowing you had to die?"

"Yes," admitted Harry, "and I fully expected to die, but something happened…"

He stopped there, he hadn't told anyone, not even Ron and Hermione, about what he had seen, lying there in the forest. Neither, the vision of King's Cross station, nor the conversation he had had with what seemed to be the disembodied essence of Dumbledore.

"What happened?" asked McGonagall, sharply. "When Hagrid carried you out of the forest, I was afraid you really were…" she didn't dare finish her sentence.

"I had a near-death experience, to say the least," said Harry wondering if that was supposed to be unusual, "I'm still not sure if it was real, but I have it on good authority that it was."

"Whose?" McGonagall asked. She had abandoned her usual stiff manner, and leaned forward in her seat, barely containing her curiosity.

"Dumbledore's," said Harry, as casually as he could. "I saw him, and spoke with him. He told me that the connection I shared with Voldemort was made stronger the night he regained his physical body. He used my blood to re-create himself, and by doing so, he kept my mother's charm alive within him. I couldn't die while he was alive."

There was a deep silence. It seemed to stretch on into infinity, until Dumbledore's portrait spoke.

"Well, that's unusual. You say you spoke to me, did you? Did I seem well, in the after-life?"

"Well, I suppose," said Harry, unsure of how to react to such casual questioning regarding such a thing. "I can't say I know for sure if I spoke to the actual spirit of Dumbledore, or it if was all just my head filling in the blanks. But, wouldn't you have known?"

The Dumbledore in the portrait chuckled, as if Harry had been eleven years old again, asking the real Dumbledore what he had seen in the Mirror of Erised.

"I'm afraid that my abilities and knowledge are limited to the point at which the living Albus Dumbledore died. I have no spiritual connection with his being, from that moment onward. I am simply oil on canvas, bewitched to contain the whole of his experiences in his life. Try not to think about it too hard, my boy, or you may find yourself pondering the mystery for the rest of your life."

Harry accepted this, but he was concerned with the expression on McGonagall's face. She seemed like she had been rather shocked with the idea that Harry had truly spoken with Albus Dumbledore from beyond the grave. She took a moment to clear her throat, and then said, slowly

"So, you came back, and then you were able to finally defeat Voldemort. There are some things regarding the words spoken between the two of you. Firstly, am I to be under the impression that Voldemort was, and now you are, in possession of the Deathstick?"

"Oh? The Elder Wand?" said Harry, his eyes darting again to Dumbledore's portrait. He was still sitting awake in his frame, and while his expression was a bit dour, he nodded his approval for Harry to share that secret.

"Yes, Potter, the Elder Wand, and I can see you looking up at Albus, my boy," McGonagall said sternly, seeming to regain some of her trademark severity.

"Yes, it is the Elder Wand, and I do have it," said Harry, "And, of even greater importance, it has given it's allegiance to me. However, I have no desire to use it. I think it would be best if we were to return it to the proper place; buried again with Professor Dumbledore."

He took the wand from the moleskin bag around his neck, and looked at it for a moment, before setting it on the desk. Professor McGonagall looked down at it as well, with a mixture of amazement and distaste. She steeled herself, and reached out to pick it up.

"You mean to say that Voldemort stole the wand from Dumbledore's tomb, and sought to use it?" she asked, taking it in her hand, and surveying it closely.

"Yes, however, the wand didn't belong to Voldemort. Draco Malfoy had been the one to disarm Dumbledore the night he was killed. The wand gave it's allegiance to him at that point. And then, I disarmed Draco several nights ago, again shifting his own wand, and the Elder Wand, to my control."

"Yes, I thought I had heard that correctly this morning," said McGonagall, setting the wand back down on the desk, as if she were afraid it would tempt her, "We shall, as you suggested, return the wand to Professor Dumbledore's tomb. I would like to know how he came across it—"

"I am afraid, Minerva," said Dumbledore's portrait, rather loudly, "That is not relevant to our current line of questioning."

Professor McGonagall looked toward the portrait of her mentor with a look of consternation on her face. However, she simply shrugged, looking a bit sour for a moment, and said, "Very well, Albus. There is also another matter I would like to discuss with you, Mister Potter. If you would be so willing, there is to be a memorial banquet to be held for those lost in the battle. It would mean a great deal to everyone if you could say a few words."

Harry was dumbstruck. He hadn't considered being asked to deliver an oration in the immediate future, and was somewhat intimidated by the notion. However, he knew that he wanted to do and say something in the memory of his fallen comrades.

"I would be honored," he said, "And I also have another contribution, if you would be willing to help me."

"I would be honored to assist you in anything you may need," said McGonagall warmly.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II

Dedication

The Great Hall was hushed and somber that night. In memory of the dead, the customary house banners were replaced with black hangings. Harry sat at the table normally assigned to Gryffindor House; however the seating arrangements were family-exclusive. Seated around him were the Weasleys, including Hermione. All of them looked strained, but were able to remain in good spirits. Harry was still rather nervous to deliver the speech he had prepared with Professor McGonagall, but he expected it would be well-received. This thought still didn't stop his stomach from lurching, when Professor McGonagall stood and called for attention. Harry's eyes met Ginny's for a moment, and he almost felt like he had travelled backward through time, to a happier moment.

"As you all know, we are gathered here tonight to remember a tragic loss. There is a weight of pain and sorrow with these proceedings," Professor McGonagall's voice was low as she spoke, and Harry heard a few quiet sobs from those around him. "However, there is the hope we feel, in knowing that those lost were in defense of this school and of the ideals that we all hold within our hearts. Peace. With that said, I would like to introduce a fine young wizard, without whom we would not be here; Harry Potter."

Ron and Hermione looked toward Harry with surprise etched into their faces, along with many of the other Weasleys. A split-second later, the Great Hall was filled with such a roar of cheering that it nearly propelled Harry out of his seat. As he hurried toward the staff table, he was patted on the back, shaken hands with, and hugged a number of times. He took a moment to collect his thoughts, and began the speech he had rehearsed until the words were etched in his brain.

"Words cannot begin to describe how happy I am to be here tonight. Here, with friends, and family. I say this because many of you here have become family to me," His eyes drifted toward the spot he had been sitting at moments ago. "There is much to be grateful for. There is also the loss to be felt, and it is a terrible loss. Our lives have been forever changed. However, there is still hope that we might rebuild our world. With the forces of darkness gone, we are free to start again. I remember a time, not so very long ago, when Hogwarts was a place of wonder and happiness for me. This castle is my home. Someday, for some young witch or wizard, it will be home again."

Harry wasn't sure if he had said enough. Certainly Professor McGonagall had told him that the sentiment of the oration was quite nice, but he wondered if he might not have come off as too eager. However, the sounds of applause greeted him just as forcefully, as he moved back toward his seat.

"That was quite nice," said Hermione. "I never imagined you as much of a public speaker."

"Neither did I," admitted Harry. "I just wish there was more I could do."

"It was lovely," said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes a bit wet.

"Thank you, Mister Potter," said Professor McGonagall, now standing again. "Now, the feast shall be served in honor of our fallen allies. Please, enjoy and remember fonder times."

And, in the usual Hogwarts fashion, the tables were suddenly laden with food and drink. Everyone took something to eat, but no one seemed to have much of an appetite. Even Ron was merely picking at his meal. Harry was trying not to feel guilty, as he spooned a fairly large portion of potatoes onto his plate, when someone nudged him. It was George.

"Hello, Harry," he said, grinning far less prominently than usual. "Thank you for the kind words. Fred would have liked it."

"How are you, George?" said Harry, concern welling within him. "I imagine it must be hard for you."

"I'm okay," said George. "It hurts, but I know Fred is still with me. And, I know that he gave his life for a better purpose, like all of us would have."

"Of course," said Harry. "If there is anything I can do to help you or anyone else, let me know."

"Thank you," said George, smiling a bit brighter. "There is something I would like to talk to you about later on, but now isn't the time. I can expect you'll be staying at the Burrow with us, then?"

"I would say so," said Mrs. Weasley, whom Harry had not noticed listening in on their conversation. "Where else would he go?"

"Of course I'll be staying with you," said Harry to Mrs. Weasley reassuringly. "There is no place I'd rather be."

The feast continued on, but there was little conversation. The night sky stretched across the ceiling of the Great Hall; countless stars glistening against an inky-black canvas. Harry's thoughts wandered for a moment as he sat there, eating as much as he dared. He had scanned the faces in the Great Hall earlier that evening, and he had noticed, but wasn't surprised, to find that Draco Malfoy and parents had vacated Hogwarts in the initial celebration after Voldemort's defeat. He wondered when and if he would ever cross paths with the pointed-faced Draco and what might be said in such a moment. With Voldemort gone, Lucius would be disgraced again, if not tried by the Wizengamot for aiding the Dark Lord, not to mention Draco himself. Harry was surprised, however, to find that he didn't quite like the idea of Draco locked in Azkaban. Despite the years of mutual hatred for one another, Harry couldn't forget that Draco had indeed been crucial in defeating Voldemort, even if he hadn't realized it. He resolved that he would contact them at some point in the future; not too soon, naturally. Harry wasn't sure if, with Voldemort gone, any of the Malfoys would see reason, but he thought it might be worth a shot. He was considering what he would say, if he sent them an owl, when a sudden jolt of realization hit him. He would need a new owl, with Hedwig gone. He hadn't thought of it while he, Ron and Hermione had been on the run, not needing or desiring to communicate with anyone by means that could be tampered with. However, now that the danger was lifted, he felt the loss of not just his mail-carrier, but a companion that he would miss dearly.

The tables were cleared shortly afterward, and Professor McGonagall addressed those gathered once again.

"Anyone who wishes to spend the night in the castle is more than welcome to. As you leave, please, take a moment to observe a new memorial placed in the Entrance Hall. Mementos and personal artifacts are permitted to adorn it. Goodnight, and remember, with the darkness receding, the Light will be allowed to shine all the brighter. Now, off with you."

The memorial left in the Entrance Hall had been Harry's gift to the school. He had created it by transfiguring a bit of rubble from the battle, with Professor McGonagall's guidance. As they worked their magic on the chunk of stone, McGonagall had told Harry about how wizards who had been through extraordinary feats usually seemed to notice their magic worked much easier than it had prior. Harry wasn't quite sure what she had meant, but he had to acknowledge that the completed product was the best work he had managed at Transfiguration.

The memorial was composed of a stone statue of a phoenix, its wings spread wide. The plinth below it was etched with neat lettering:

This Memorial Stands in Honor of Lives Lost

At the Battle Fought Between the Forces of Darkness,

And Those Who Rose to Protect the Light

Below that was a list of names, far longer than Harry had initially realized. This was the portion that McGonagall had offered her aid, as she was both able to perform the magic much quicker and more accurately, but also because she may have sensed Harry's discomfort at recounting every life lost, like each one was a tick-mark on Harry's conscience. There had already been a number of items adorning the space of floor surrounding the memorial, and a scarf in the Gryffindor colors, draped across the wings. Harry said his good-nights to the others, saying that he could use some time to rest, and made his way towards the Astronomy Tower, by way of a few hidden passages.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III

Conversations in Darkness

Harry sat in seclusion, on the Astronomy Tower that night. As he gazed up at the cosmos, a question grew in his mind.

_Am I truly free? After all that I've done; everything I've been through, people will always know me as a hero. Do I really want that?_

A small part of him considered the status and fame, and started doing the math. Gilderoy Lockhart, prat that he was, had amassed a good fortune for his supposed deeds.

"But I'm not like that!" Harry muttered aloud, bitterly. He was still partially lost in thought, when another voice spoke.

"Talking to yourself? Or is there someone else in your head, now?"

Harry whirled around to see Ginny standing by the stairs. She seemed well, but the smile Harry knew was a bit muted.

"Just thinking out loud," Harry said, meekly. He wasn't quite sure what to say.

"Oh," said Ginny, "Would you like to be alone? I can—"

"No," said Harry, rather abruptly, "I could use the company, actually."

Ginny sat down next to Harry, and looked up at the sky. Harry took a moment to drink in her presence, and then did likewise. After a moment, Ginny spoke.

"So, it's over," she sighed softly. "No more fighting."

"Yeah," said Harry, and he forced the next question, trying not to feel cliché. "How are you?"

"Tired," said Ginny, stifling a yawn. "But mostly happy."

"Happy…" repeated Harry, slowly. "What makes you so happy?"

"Maybe, because Voldemort is gone and we're free from fear. Maybe, even more, because you're still here."

Harry swallowed and tried to think. He drew a blank.

"When Hagrid carried you out of the forest… I really thought I'd lost you."

Her voice trembled, and when Harry looked at her, he saw a fair bit of wetness in her eyes, his heart contracted and he silently swore at himself.

"I'm sorry," he said, softly, "I never meant for things to happen that way. I thought…" He trailed off. It wasn't so much what he thought that bothered him, as it was what he knew.

"Thought what?" asked Ginny, sharply. "That you had to die?"

Harry swore at himself again. He couldn't lie bold-faced to her.

"Yes," he admitted, "Something horrible happened the night Voldemort killed my parents. It was the reason I could feel his presence. Part of him lived inside me, and I sacrificed myself to destroy it."

Ginny stared at him, her expression neutral. When she spoke, however, the tone of her voice betrayed her shocked revulsion.

"Part of him lived in you?" she whispered.

"It's gone, now. There's just plain-old Harry Potter in here." Harry knocked on his skull lightly with his fist.

Ginny smiled, and Harry remembered just how much he could trust Ginny. She looked back at the sky again, and a few more moments passed.

"Well, what now?" Ginny's head came to rest against Harry's shoulder. Harry thought for a moment, as he had been preoccupied with the very same question.

"I'm not sure. I mean, I know, but…" He trailed off again, unsure of what to say. She caught his eye for a moment, and the words seemed to come to him.

"All my life, I've wanted one thing; A normal life, a family, and a chance to be happy. Now that Voldemort is gone, I want to do just that. So I supposed the question really is, 'What are you doing for the rest of your life'?"

Harry wished he had a camera to capture Ginny's stunned expression.

"Harry," she said, her voice quivering slightly, "Are you saying what I think you are?"

"I'm not proposing," Harry said, "Yet. I just want to slow down and enjoy life. If I can be with you, then I know I'll be happy."

Ginny looked into Harry's eyes, she had that hard look that Harry couldn't help but adore. She leaned forward.

"Harry Potter, I will love you always."

The kiss she gave Harry was only rivaled in potency by a full bottle of aged Firewhiskey. When it was over, she rested her head against Harry's chest. He knew she was listening to his heartbeat.

"Shame you hadn't proposed," mused Ginny, grinning. "Mum would be thrilled."

Harry's pulse quickened, not for the thought of marrying Ginny, but for the idea of Mrs. Weasley planning the event. He wondered if he would be able to endure. He looked down at Ginny, and promptly decided that it would be worth it.

Ron Weasley was exhausted. The past 72 hours had been the most taxing of his life. It hadn't even been the battle that had drained him, for adrenaline's sake. No, it had been the after-math; his brother dead, his mother in near-hysterics, and he still couldn't sleep. Hermione had insisted that she would stay up to work out arrangements for her trip abroad to locate her parents. Even abandoning her S.P.E.W. ideals to have the kitchen elves bring a pot of coffee. After speaking with Professor McGonagall, she had secured the school's Teleset Diode.

"It's the wizard equivalent of a telephone," said Hermione, when Ron has asked what it was and why they would need it. "They're dreadfully tricky, but they can be used to place calls through Muggle telephone lines."

The device consisted of an ornate wooden box, much like the wizarding wireless Ron had kept with him the past few months. However, this one was considerably fancier and slightly larger. On one side, was a mounted hand-crank, with a long wire coming out the other side, ending in a bell-shaped device that Ron guessed was an ear-piece.

"Most of them are in museums or private collections," said Hermione, as she picked up the earpiece of the device, and reached for the crank. "Hogwarts keeps this one to contact the parents of Muggle-born students."

She turned the crank a few times, and a male voice spoke coolly from the ear-piece.

"_If you are placing a call to another Teleset Diode, speak the name of the wizard now. If you are attempting to contact a Muggle telephone subscriber, speak the 10-digit number now."_

Hermione rattled off a string of numbers that Ron couldn't quite care to remember. The voice spoke again.

"_You will be connected shortly."_

There were a few odd-sounding tones, and then a click, before another voice spoke out of the earpiece, sounding tired and rather cross.

"_Heathrow International Airport, my name is Todd McNealy, how may I help you this evening?"_

"Yes," said Hermione, "I'm calling to make reservations for two to travel from London to Sydney. Business class, if you please and I would prefer a non-stop flight if one is available."

"_Yes, ma'am, one moment,"_ said the voice, and Ron heard the sounds of clattering from the earpiece. _"There's a flight with room on it leaving in two-days from now, non-stop from London to Sydney. Departure is at 7:32Pm local time. Shall I book that now?"_

"Yes, please," said Hermione, "And can you tell me the total?"

"_Very well, if comes to three-hundred seventy-five pounds and thirty-four pence. You can pay now by credit or check by phone, or you may pay at the service desk when you arrive to collect your boarding passes."_

"I'd like to pay now," said Hermione, reaching into her beaded bag and withdrew a small wallet. She opened it and found a shiny plastic card. "Credit, billed to Hermione J. Granger," And she read off another string of digits that Ron found quite befuddling.

"_Very well, ma'am,"_ said the voice wearily, as more clattering sounded in the background. _"Please arrive at least an hour early, to collect your boarding passes and check any luggage you will be taking along. Please be aware that the ticket price does not include charges for any checked baggage. Is there anything else I can do for you this evening?"_

"No, thank you," said Hermione.

"_All right,"_ said the voice stiffly. _"Thank you for doing business, have a good evening."_

There was another click, and the line went dead.

"That seemed pleasant," chortled Ron. "Do Muggles actually go through all of this just to travel? Why not just Apparate, or use the Floo Network?"

"We can't Apparate that far, not without having been there, first," said Hermione as she stow the card back into the wallet, which went back into the beaded bag. "Without a firm Destination, we could splinch ourselves or end up stranded in the Outback. And I don't know any chimneys on the Floo Network in Australia, do you?"

"I guess not, but really? Going up in one of those metal contraptions you call airplanes? It sounds barbaric," Ron was just too set in his ways, even if he wouldn't admit it.

"Would you rather ride a broomstick?" she asked, smirking slightly. "We could both leave from the airport, and see which of us makes better time."

"Now you're just being mean," he grunted, frowning. Hermione laughed.

"Relax, Ron, thousands of Muggles get on airplanes and live to talk about it. It's nothing a wizard couldn't handle."

"Are you saying I think I can't handle it?" Ron asked, defiantly.

"No, I'm just saying that surely a wizard who helped defeat the Dark Lord wouldn't be worried about crashing and burning in a 'Muggle deathtrap', right?" she didn't sound like she was accusing Ron, merely toying with his mind.

"Why do I feel like this is a trap?" he asked, sensing the intent and grinning.

"It's not a trap," she said, sighing wearily. "I'm just saying, if you give it a chance, you won't regret it. Muggles may not have magic, but they do know how to fly."

"Just how far up do they go?" he asked.

"Ever heard of the Mile High Club?"

"Nice," Ron conceded, though he wondered if there was an actual Mile High Club, complete with membership roster. "I suppose I can give it a shot."

"That's the spirit," said Hermione, warmly. "Erm, just to be sure, do you have a passport? We'll need it before we board."

"Passport?" asked Ron, now confused again.

"Apparently not," said Hermione, frowning. "I suppose wizards never really had to worry about identification like that. I suppose I can just make something passable."

She took out her wand, and a small leather-bound book that held a picture of herself, static and immobile, along with some other information that Ron didn't catch. After a few moments, she had duplicated the book, only this new one had Ron's image and information.

"I have you down in this as 'Michael Partridge'," said Hermione, handing the book to Ron, who looked at his likeness and the name printed below it.

"Why do I need a fake name?" he asked.

"Precaution, I suppose," said Hermione. "I don't want to risk anyone recognizing the name Weasley, even if they don't realize it's a wizard family; too many awkward questions," she put away her own passport, and sighed wearily. "I'll be glad when this is all over,"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter IV

The Next Step

The next day dawned sunny and clear, but there was a distinct chill to the air, as Harry and the rest of the Weasleys took Floo Powder back to the Burrow. It had been several months since Harry had been at the place; despite it having been abandoned in recent months, the house still held an air of homey-ness and comfort. Mrs. Weasley immediately set to work cleaning, while Harry, Ron and Hermione went to the task of unpacking their belongings. Hermione had already separated everything of Harry's back into his rucksack; she extracted it from the beaded bag.

"If I might ask, do you mind if I borrow a thing or two for my trip?" she ask, trying hard to sound casual. "Just some small things like your Sneakoscope."

"Sure," said Harry, stealing a glance at Ron, who looked rather amused. He gave her the glass spinning-top device. "So, when are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow evening," said Hermione, stowing the Sneakoscope away. "I know it's sudden, with the funeral and everything, but I want to find my parents as soon as possible, now that everything is safe again."

"Well, please let me know how you're doing," said Harry. "Write, use the Floo Network, however you can, I want to be sure that both of you are okay."

"Of course," said Hermione. "I'm sure we'll be fine." However, there was a distinct expression of concern on her face.

The rest of the day was spent preparing for the funeral service to be held for Fred. There was a somber feeling to the entire affair, as a few friends and family to the Weasleys arrived and helped set up a tent in the back garden, much like the one that had been used at Bill and Fleur's wedding, though not as festive-looking. Harry had offered to help, but he had been firmly told that he was an "honored guest" by Percy Weasley, and he should make himself at home. Therefore, in order to busy himself, Harry set to work combing through the rucksack, and deciding what was no longer needed, now that the task he had set out on was complete.

He had just finished emptying out the last of the school-books that Hermione had correctly identified as his, due mostly to the fact that many of them had idle doodles on the inside covers, while her books were almost always immaculate. As he straightened up and stretched, he noticed something. Out in the back garden was a face both familiar and loathsome. It was Pius Thicknesse; the man Voldemort had appointed Minister of Magic, while he had been in power.

Harry stood and made his way down the stairs, finding Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen.

"Have you seen our visitor?" asked Harry. "I only just saw him from upstairs."

"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Weasley, distractedly, as she scrubbed at a saucepan by hand. "I'm not sure why he's here, however. You best go out and ask him yourself. And, Harry, do be careful."

"Don't worry," said Harry, "It's him I'd be worried about."

Harry strode out into the garden and Thicknesse watched him as he drew closer.

"Hello, Mister Potter," said the man, looking a bit weary, "How are you?"

"I'm well," said Harry, shortly, remembering the last time he had seen the wizard. "I would ask you the same. I expected to find you locked in a cell at Azkaban, for the way you ran things when you were Minister."

"Indeed," said Thicknesse, looking thoroughly ashamed. "I might be, if I had been acting of my own accord. As it was, I was under the Imperius Curse and my actions where wholly distinct from what I would have done, otherwise."

"I see," said Harry, wondering if he should trust the man's word. "I suppose that is a good defense. It is rather hard to prove, however."

"I know what you must be thinking," said Thicknesse, softly, his expression of pleading becoming even more pronounced. "I assure you, if I had been of my own wits, I would have left when things turned sour, and gone into hiding, like many others."

"So, you mean to say," said Harry, acid creeping into his tone, "that you wouldn't have stood to fight."

Thicknesse threw his hands up, helplessly, "Against whom? You know just as well as I do that the Dark Lord was mysterious enough when he was in control, and once I was on Yaxley's leash, there was little fight left in me. But, I'm not here to seek forgiveness, but to deliver a summons to you, Mister Potter, as well as your friends, Granger and Weasley. I only wish it were good news."

Harry's apprehension mounted, and he had a feeling he knew what this was about.

"You're prescience is requested on the fifth of June, to be questioned on the matter of your alleged break-in at Gringott's Bank," said Thicknesse, producing a piece of parchment and handing it to Harry. "Please understand, if I had any measure of control in the matter, it would be dismissed at once, but the Goblin Liaison Office is adamant."

"So I expected," said Harry, bitterly, "But aren't you Head of Magical Law Enforcement? With Kingsley in charge, I expected you would try to take your old post back."

"Minister Shacklebolt has expressed doubts regarding the sincerity of my claims of magical coercion," said Thicknesse, glumly. "I've been placed on temporary leave, until I can sit an inquiry. Otherwise this bit of nonsense would be put to rest without need to bother you."

Harry was rather surprised by all of this. He found himself wondering if it wasn't too late to revise his judgment of the one-time Minister of Magic, who looked quite beside himself with guilt, now.

"Right," said Harry, after taking a moment to look over the parchment, which he saw simply reiterated Thicknesse's own statement, however, more officially. "I suppose I should thank you."

"Think nothing of the matter," said Thicknesse, promptly. "In fact, I volunteered to deliver this bit of bad business, in order to thank you, Mister Potter. You are truly a greater wizard than most. I sincerely hope that, when we meet again, you will think better of me."

Harry was utterly flummoxed by this. He didn't know what to say, as Thicknesse turned to leave.

Many familiar faces sat beneath the tent in the back garden, that evening. There were many friends and family that had come to pay their respect. Harry sat between Ron and Ginny, with Hermione on Ron's other side. George, Percy, and their parents were seated in the front row just ahead of them. Harry also saw other fellow Gryffindors scattered among them, with Lee Jordan sitting a few seats away, looking quite stricken in the absence of one of his best friends.

The casket sat in front of them, covered in a white cloth. There were a great number of roses and photographs set on the table next to it. There was silence, aside from the occasional sob from Mrs. Weasley, as the same wizened old man that had attended to Dumbledore's funeral stepped toward the casket. He faced the crowd, an odd look on his face, and he spoke.

"The man we put to rest this evening, was truly and utterly mad."

With that, he cast an uncertain glance toward George, and made his way down the aisle, muttering something under his breath. Confused whispers broke out around them, and Ginny and Harry exchanged glances.

"What on earth was that about?" screeched Mrs. Weasley, her tears abated only by pure wrath. George patted her on the shoulder, and stood, facing the mourners.

"As you all know, my brother and I could always appreciate a good laugh," said George, smiling broadly. "Even in Fred's last moments, he was able to smile, amidst all the death and chaos around us."

Even as George continued to smile, Harry could see one or two tears hanging in the corner of his eyes, "With that said, I would like to say, on my dearly departed brother's behalf, that this shall not be a night for sorrow and loss, but a time for joy, as we celebrate the life of a fallen brother, son, and true friend."

Then, George turned swiftly on the spot, drew out his wand, and put it to his forehead in a type of salute. Suddenly, the night sky was alive with the screaming of dozens of rockets climbing into the air. They burst in showers of color and light, their blasts shaking the chair Harry sat on. These were not the typical magical fireworks the Weasley twins had been known for. By comparison, they were more like Muggle bottle rockets. However, the display was still magnificent and fitting the occasion, as Harry recalled the Muggle tradition for fallen soldiers of a 21-gun salute. Even Mrs. Weasley, who had resumed her tears, was taken to gasp in awe as the sky was lit with countless shades of red, gold, and white. As the last sparks faded into the night, the rocket's sharp rapport still ringing around them, George turned back to the mourners.

"Now, my dear friends; do enjoy yourselves."

Several of the waiters that had attended to Bill and Fleur's wedding had appeared in the aisle, bearing trays loaded with drinks and food. Harry looked toward Ginny, who shared his look of amusement and confusion, and then toward Ron, who was consoling his mother, as she was now quite furious with Mr. Weasley, who had apparently taken his son's advice to heart, and was clutching a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey, and drinking from it in earnest. Despite himself, Harry laughed out loud, and a mad thought crossed his mind.

"Enjoying yourself already?" asked a voice.

Harry turned to see George standing next to him.

"Sorry," said Harry, uneasily.

"Did you happen to miss my speech back there? Or were you too busy snogging with my sister?"

George winked roguishly, and Harry laughed again, even as Ginny thwacked his arm. Despite the stinging pain he now felt, Harry continued to chortle. What on earth had come over him?

"Care to join me for a moment?" asked George, and Harry stood to follow him. Ginny spoke up.

"I don't suppose I could come along, as well? I don't fancy where any of this is going."

Harry saw that, not only was Mrs. Weasley's fury escalated, but Hermione was also fuming now, as Ron had joined his father, and they were now sharing the bottle and beaming at one another. The two women were standing a ways off, glancing at the two men with distaste, and conversing in low voices.

They retreated, the five of them, after George had snatched up Ron and Hermione, saying a few words to the both of them as he did so. He also spoke a few hushed words to his parents, before hugging the both of them, and leading Ron, Hermione, Harry and Ginny into the house. They seated themselves in the den, and Harry found that George now had a bottle of his own in hand. Ron groaned quietly, looking rather green.

"Relax, dear brother," said George, throwing his free arm around Ron's shoulders and squeezing him a bit, "You've had your fill for now, but there is something I have for you."

Ron looked a bit apprehensive, and then disappointed, as George handed him a Butterbeer. Harry chuckled, and looked apologetically at Ron, as George handing him a glass of amber liquid. Harry sniffed it gingerly, and found that it smelled sweet and sumptuous. He took a drink, and it tasted rich and heady, with a hint of red-currant. He longed for more, and took another drink.

"Like that, do you?" asked George, as he handed Ginny and Hermione each a glass, "Rosemerta's finest mead, in an enchanted bottle. Each glass is unique in flavor."

Indeed, as Hermione and Ginny took sips from their own glasses, they looked at each other in surprise and amusement. Ginny murmured something about pineapple.

George took his own glass in hand, and raised it in a toast, "To the victorious dead. May their memory live on forever."

Harry appreciated the sentiment, and said "Hear, hear!" with the rest of them, and took another drink. Though he had thought that his glass would be nearly empty by now, he noticed that it was actually still quite full.

"Ah, yes," said George, noticing Harry's astonishment, "These are a set of glasses that Fred and I made. They refill when the drinker wishes for more," He smiled, and saw that Ron was now looking very crestfallen, as he had already drained his Butterbeer, and was looking at the glass bottle, as if hoping it too would refill.

"Very well, would you like some?" he asked, producing another glass. "Just promise me not to over-do yourself. Mum would have my head if you got too soggy."

Ron smiled half-heartedly, and took the glass.

"Yes, my brother and I came up with a great number of excellent novelties," said George, looking at his own glass fondly. "Not to mention a few quite useful things beyond that. In a relatively short, we've managed to make quite a good fortune, and connections, to boot. And now, it's time to put some of it to good use," He looked toward Harry first, and then the others, still smiling fondly. "Fred and I had decided that, once everything was sorted out, and Voldemort was gone at last, we would do something for everyone who has suffered. We had even agreed that, if one of us should not survive, the other would carry out his wishes. I fully intend to keep that promise to him."

Harry felt something icy grip at his insides, even though the mead had put warmth in his belly.

"George, I just want you to know, I'm terribly sorry about what happened. If I could—"

"Not another word," said George, firmly. "Fred did what any of us would have. And, besides," his tone lightened, "you've already done more than anyone could have imagined. You took out the Big Bad, himself. And, what's more, you've lived to tell the tale."

The icy feeling in Harry's gut receded, and he felt the warmth in his belly spread. He smiled, for some reason he couldn't identify. He was the hero, after all. George was right, and Harry could take stock in the fact that he was still alive.

"That brings me back to what I was saying before," said George, after taking another drink from his glass. "Regarding the promise I intend to keep to our lost brother. I wish to give the wizarding world a chance to take a deep breath, and relax. To enjoy the freedom we now have, thanks to you," He produced a piece of parchment from inside his robe, and gave it to Harry.

Come one and all -

To the Event of the Decade!

**Freedom Fest**

July 30th and 31st

**All proceeds are to benefit**

St. Mungo's Hospital

And

Hogwarts School

Of Witchcraft and Wizardry

**Please direct correspondence to**

Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes

115 Diagon Alley, London

Location to be announced

Harry was stunned. He handed the parchment to Ginny, who read it with interest. Harry looked at George.

"That seems like one hell of a birthday party," he said, and he noticed that he suddenly felt more reckless than usual, and then he remembered just how hectic his life had been recently. He took another drink, as George smiled at him.

"More than that," said George. "As I said before, we have an opportunity. Thanks to you, we have the chance to help make things right. You know what I mean, I'm sure."

Harry thought for a moment, and he suddenly had a spark of revelation. He looked at George, trying not to laugh.

"With you as an honored guest," continued George, "people will be clamoring to see you, to thank you, to hear your story, and share theirs. You see, you represent something, now, and if you wouldn't mind the opportunity, we can truly help those who need it."

Harry considered this logic, and couldn't find any fault. Though there was one nagging thought.

"I don't suppose I would be expected to deliver some kind of speech, again?" he asked, tentatively. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not much for that sort of thing."

George laughed, "I only ask that you be there. There will be live entertainment, and while I might ask you to hold the crowd's attention for a brief moment here and there, I do not expect you to deliver a stirring oration. I know it's not really your style. This is going to be a fun event, not a serious one."

"Sound's brilliant," said Ron, standing up from his armchair, albeit a bit sloppily. "What can we do to help?"

"All of the arrangements will be handled," said George. "I already have a considerable list of volunteers and potential entertainment. The venue should be secured, if all goes accordingly, and all other measures are easily handled with a bit of gold and a refusal to back down."

George's resolution stirred something in Harry's memory, but he put it aside as he took another drink from his glass. He felt Ginny's hand slip into his, and he looked at her and smiled.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"Well, I'm all for it," said Ginny, warmly. "But it's really up to you, Harry. After all, you're the star, it seems."

Harry nodded, and looked at George.

"Count me in," he said, smiling.

"That's the ticket!" roared George approvingly. "You won't regret it, mate. This is going to be a smash!" George raised his glass again, "To freedom and the promise of a better tomorrow!"

"Hear, hear!" they cried, and drank deeply.

"So, with that matter handled," said George, setting down his glass, "on to other topics. What is the story with you two?" He was eyeing Harry and Ginny with interest. Harry looked toward Ginny, whose face was reddening a bit under the sudden pressure. He smiled.

"Well, that is an interesting question," he said, deliberately stalling. "I mean, I don't rightly know what to say."

"We've decided," intervened Ginny, "to take our time."

George nodded, his smile broadening, "I thought as much. Relax, I have no objections. After all these years of treating you as a brother, it would be nice to count you as one, legally."

Harry didn't know what to say to this, but Ron laughed heartily, and looked at Harry with bleary eyes. Harry took another drink, wondering if he looked nearly as sauced.

The next two days passed quickly by Harry's reckoning, as family and friends came and went. Bill and Fleur, who had spent the night after Fred's funeral, left the next morning once Bill had made sure that his parents were cared for. They said their good-byes to Harry and the rest of them, and then Disapparated. Percy had also spent the night, though he had an apartment of his own in London. He took the opportunity to catch up with his brothers and sister, continually apologizing for his absence in previous years. He finally stopped, when George threatened to glue his lips shut with a Permanent Sticking Charm. To Harry's surprise and discomfort, Percy also took the opportunity to have words with him.

"Well, Harry," he said, jovially, his old pompous self, "What are your plans now?"

Harry had to think for a moment, and came up with little.

"I hadn't gotten that far, I suppose," he said, shrugging.

"Well, now," said Percy, clapping a hand on his shoulder, "you can't rest on your laurels forever. I'm sure the Auror Office would have a spot for you. They'd be mad not to consider you, given what's happened."

Harry thought about this for a moment, and then remembered the upcoming inquiry. He decided he would wait until that was settled, before pursuing a career at the Ministry. Harry realized he hadn't told Ron and Hermione about the summons. Later that day, an opportunity came up, as the three of them sat in Ron's room. Harry told them about the conversation he had had with Thicknesse, and Ron looked quite stricken, while Hermione looked rather irritated.

"I suppose the goblins are quite furious," she said, crossly. "It's entirely justified. I mean, we did break several dozen laws, use the Imperius Curse, and then used a specially trained dragon to escape, likely causing hundreds of Galleons worth of damage. But still, we were trying to defeat Lord Voldemort. I would think that, given the circumstances, they could consider over-looking it."

"Well, that's just it," said Harry, bitterly. "They don't really give a damn about the circumstances. As far as the goblins of Gringotts are concerned, the Second Wizarding War was just that; a wizard's war. In the end, they just want to point out how much of a mess we made."

"So, what do we tell them?" asked Ron, looking concerned. "I mean, should we tell them the truth? We were hunting down one of Voldemort's horcruxes, so we could kill him and make sure everyone would be free of him. How could they argue with that?"

Harry considered this. What did it risk to tell the truth?

"If you two don't mind," he said, finally, "I think I'll do most of the talking. I know what I can say. After all, I am the 'Great Harry Potter'," He was sure to add a note of sarcasm to the title.

Ron and Hermione looked a bit taken aback by this sudden change in attitude, but offered no objections. After all, it had been Harry's idea to break into Gringotts, he would explain why.

The next day, Ron and Hermione set to preparing for their journey abroad. Mrs. Weasley had been initially upset that her son was "running off" again on some other "mad quest of some kind," However, Hermione had assured her that Ron would be safe with her and that they would keep in touch. Harry noticed that Ron looked rather grim. Once Hermione had left to use a pay phone in town, he asked Ron if he was doing okay.

"Yeah, I suppose," he said, dismissively. "I'm just a bit nervous about this airplane thing."

"Oh," said Harry, who had only ever flown my magical means. He remembered that Uncle Vernon had traveled by plane a few times while Harry had been in primary school.

"Think of it this way," said Harry, sympathetically, "if anything goes wrong, the people flying the plane will know what to do."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," Ron said, folding some of the Muggle clothes he would be taking along. "And, besides, what could go wrong?"


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter V

"Come Fly with Me"

Six hours later, Ron was trying hard to remind himself that nothing could go wrong, as he stepped out of a Muggle taxi cab at the entrance of Heathrow International Airport. The complex was quite large, and a jumbo jet roared past overhead. He thought of the dragon they had ridden mere days ago.

"_Stiff upper lip,"_ he thought to himself.

The interior of the building was packed with travelers. Arrivals were making their way towards the exit, hauling luggage by hand and on carts, while surly-looking security personnel watched the departing travelers carefully, as they moved toward their gates for boarding. Hermione took the lead, looking for signs. Ron followed her closely, not wanting to get lost in the masses of people, who paid him little attention as they passed. Eventually, they arrived at the service desk, as Ron noticed the sign hanging above. He also took note of another sign, which listed the various flights and their arrival or departure times. He wondered which one was theirs, as Hermione glanced at it herself. After momentarily joining the queue, Hermione stepped up to the service desk. The clerk was not the Todd McNealy that had helped them over the phone two nights previous, but a young woman about a year or two older than he and Hermione. She had curly blonde hair and looked rather pretty, though she was quite frazzled, and didn't quite register their presence, as she rattled her fingers against a plastic board with many dozens of buttons on it. Hermione cleared her throat as she reached into her beaded bag, producing passports for the two of them.

"Reservation for Granger, two business class tickets," said Hermione, as the clerk looked at the two of them, and then the images on the passports. She rattled her fingers against the plastic board some more, watching a large box with a glass window set into the front, as words flashed across it.

After a moment, she handed back the passports and a pair of slips that had shot out of another smaller plastic box with a slot on it.

"You're flight is currently on schedule," she said. "Will you be checking any luggage?"

"No," said Hermione, clutching her bag.

"Okay then," said the clerk, smiling rather forcedly. "Enjoy your flight."

They continued onward, as Hermione looked over the pieces of thick paper that Ron supposed were the "boarding passes" he had heard about. They passed down a few more corridors, until they came to another long queue.

"Security checkpoint," explained Hermione. "Whatever you do, keep your wand hidden. They don't have Secrecy Sensors or Probity Probes, and they're more worried about Muggle weapons or explosives, and we have neither."

Ron had been keeping his wand tucked up the sleeve of his sweater, and prayed he wouldn't have to use it. He wasn't sure if he knew of a way to block the projectiles from their weapons. He thought of a Shield Charm, or perhaps a Freezing Jinx. He tried to put it aside in his mind as they waited at the end of the long queue. It seemed they might be the last to be boarded, among a large rush. This made the wait long and arduous. Ron couldn't help but feel restless, as gruff and surly-looking security personnel walked past, intimidating with their uniforms and position of power. He couldn't be sure how to react to them. Should he ignore them as he stood in line with Hermione? She was looking straight ahead at the security check point, which loomed closer, as the line moved forward a spot or two. He decided to follow her lead, and stared straight ahead, trying to get a closer look at what lie before him. He saw, as he moved closer, that it there was a curious looking archway, which had a counter on one side, and a large metallic box. People were stopping at this archway, where one security agent stood to the right-hand side, moving people through one-by-one, after they had placed the items in their pockets into a small plastic tray on the counter to the left. There was a second security agent, sitting on the far side of the metal box, looking at a glass window set into the counter, which Ron imagined looked into the bags and other containers that passed through the large box. Somehow, he had to respect the cleverness of Muggles, for having come up with such things while lacking magic.

At long last, they were at the archway. Hermione started emptying her pockets, as everyone else had when it was their turn. She also slipped off her shoes, which was a step Ron had not noticed before, and he made a quick note of it, trying not to look out-of-place. A security agent quickly inspected her shoes, before setting them on the far side of the archway. Hermione paused for a moment, and then stepped carefully through the archway. Nothing happened. Ron hadn't been sure what to expect, but decided that this meant she had made it through. The tray had meanwhile passed through the box, and Hermione was putting her shoes back on, beaded bag in hand. It was Ron's turn. He followed Hermione's lead, checking his pockets, and then remembered that he had let Hermione hold onto the Deluminator. He took off his shoes, took a deep breath and stepped through the arch. A buzzer sounded, and he jumped. The agent standing on his right spoke.

"Please, step back through and take off your belt before trying again," he said, pressing a button to stop the buzzer. Grimacing at his own foolishness, Ron did as he was told. After placing his belt in the tray, he awkwardly tried to hold up his pants while passing under that cursed archway. This time, the buzzer did not sound. Ron sighed as he slipped his shoes back on and re-did his belt. They were just getting ready to move away, before another security agent spoke.

"I need to check your bag, miss."

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks, and handed the beaded bag over with the faintest tremble in her hand. The agent undid the clasp and peered inside. His eyes then slipped out of focus, and he handed the bag back.

"You're fine, then," he said, dazed. "Move along."

As they moved away, Ron sighed again.

"Please, tell me we won't have to do that again," he said, shakily.

"Unfortunately, yes," said Hermione. "But not until the return trip. I'll need to hide my bag, next time. I shouldn't be Confunding security agents like that."

Ron had to admit that even despite the momentary fright of the security checkpoint, the whole ordeal hadn't been a total disaster, given the dangers he had already faced that month. After they had boarded the plane proper and found their seats, Ron's mood had lightened considerably. It wasn't quite as stylish as the Knight Bus or Hogwarts Express, but the seats were comfortable enough, and the stewardesses that helped other travelers heave luggage into over-head racks wore uniforms that showcased a fair bit of leg. Hermione had offered Ron the window-seat, but he had let her have it, not wanting to see first-hand just how far off the ground would be once they were in the air. It wasn't that he was afraid of heights; it was just that he would rather have control over what he was flying. Broomsticks were ideal, be even something like his father's old Ford Anglia would have been nice to have. He thought momentarily of the motor-bike Hagrid had flown when they had last taken Harry away from his aunt and uncle's house. Then, he realized that it had belonged to Sirius, and that it would likely go to Harry, if it was ever repaired.

Several minutes passed, and then a voice spoke from somewhere.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking. This is British Airways Flight 143, nonstop from London, England to Sydney, Australia. It is 7:32PM local time, and the skies are clear and calm. Please fasten your seat belts, and prepare for takeoff. Enjoy the flight, and thank you for choosing British Airways."

Hermione helped Ron fasten his seat belt, and then her own, as the noise outside the plane mounted. It started as a low roar, and steadily started to climb, until it was a high-pitched whine. The plane lurched forward, and Ron started to feel uneasy again. The business man seated across the aisle from him ruffled a bushy mustache and continued reading his newspaper. Ron wondered how many trips it had taken for the man to be so nonchalant. Then he looked at Hermione, who was now reading a paper-back book she had found in her beaded bag. He gripped the arm rests, as the plane continued to gain speed. The engines were now screaming, and Ron realized that the noise outside of the plane must be unbearable. After a moment, he stopped thinking so much about the vertical factor, and started to wonder about the speed that the engines must have been moving at. Even a broomstick couldn't go much faster than 250 kilometers per hour, newer models might have increased that top speed, but he imagined that, somehow, despite being absolutely massive, this behemoth of a flying machine could somehow move faster. And indeed, he felt the momentum of the vehicle increase, and the front end of it began to rise as the wind caught the wings of the craft and created lift.

"Incredible," he murmured to himself, and Hermione looked at him, smiling slightly.

"I told you," she said, smugly. "There's nothing to worry about."

Momentarily, they were aloft completely, the ground moving away from them. Ron felt his ears pop as the pressure in the cabin adjusted, and noticed a slight rattle in the planes ascent. He had to admit that he was actually enjoying himself. It was no broomstick, but he was flying. And, what was more; he would be spending some time in a new place. Granted, he had done enough travelling over the past year, but this was different. This wasn't some dangerous quest to destroy evil; this would be like a holiday. Hermione would find her parents, undo the magic she had worked on them, and they would all spend a bit of time enjoying themselves before going home. He settled back into his seat, as the same voice sounded from out of nowhere.

"Ladies and Gentleman, we are reaching a cruising altitude of eight-point-five kilometers. You are now free to move about the cabin. Tonight's trip will take approximately 9 hours, please relax and enjoy the flight."

Ron took the pilot's advice and stretched out in his seat. While he was too interested in what was going on around him to sleep, he decided he would settle down and unwind after all the tension he had endured. Hermione looked back up from her book, and rubbed her eyes tiredly. After a moment, she stopped a passing stewardess, and asked for a bit of tea. Ron asked for some as well, delighted that there would be refreshments. He wanted to ask Hermione what else they might have, but decided to keep it at tea, for a time. He hadn't had the chance to eat dinner, however, and his stomach ached slightly. He was glad he hadn't asked about the possibility of a meal, however. Judging by the quality of the tea, which was lukewarm and scorched, he imagined that the food would probably be worse off. He took a few sips of it, before Hermione opened a fold-down table out of the back of the seat in front of hers. She set her cup and saucer on the tray, and looked at Ron.

"Nasty stuff, eh?" she said, nodding at Ron's cup. "I'll take it over here, then. I figured it would be terrible, but I wanted something hot to wake me up a touch."

"You can sleep, if you want," said Ron, valiantly, "I'm not tired."

"No, I want to stay up a bit longer," said Hermione, taking another mouthful of tea and grimacing. "It's going to be mid-afternoon when we arrive in Sydney, and I don't want to be too jet-lagged. That's the downside of flying."

Ron hadn't accounted for this, and wondered if he would be able to get enough sleep to compensate for the time-change. He took one last sip of the wretched tea, before setting his own cup on Hermione's tray table. He stretched back out, and was just wondering what he might do, when Hermione offered him a book. It was another paper-back, a bit worn and creased in the binding. The title was _David Copperfield._

"I know you're not one to read much," Hermione conceded, "but I thought you might like something to do."

"It's okay," he said, taking the book, "I suppose it would be something to occupy myself."

He opened the book, and started reading, but found that he couldn't keep his focus, as the plane would adjust its pitch slightly, every so often, and soon he started to feel dizzy. He closed the book, and started looking around, again. Another one of the stewardesses stopped next to him, and smiled broadly.

"Is there anything I can get you?" she asked, "Perhaps you would like a headset?"

"Erm…" said Ron, "I suppose."

"Make it two," said Hermione, "What will you be showing?"

"_Back to the Future,"_ said the stewardess, shrugging slightly, "We had another film planned, but the tape was lost."

"That's fine," said Hermione, smiling as the stewardess moved off to get their headsets. Ron looked at her quizzically.

"It's a motion picture," she explained. "This one is an American film from the 80s. You might enjoy it; it's a comedy about a teen-age boy who travels back in time."

Ron was still confused, but decided it couldn't hurt to try, as the stewardess had arrived with the headsets, which Ron saw was a stiff U-shaped band with a cup-like device at each end. He watched as Hermione fitted the band over her head, securing a cup over each ear, and then took the length of wire that ran from one of the cups, and connected it to a socket in her arm-rest. Ron followed suit, and heard a distinct click, and then a hiss of white-noise issued from the cups into his ears. In a few moments, music started playing through the headset. It was an instrumental piece that sounded very much like it would put him to sleep if he listened much longer. He took the headset off, letting it hang around his neck by the band.

"So, what's the plan?" he asked Hermione. "Once we arrive, that is."

"Well, I'll find a hotel in Sydney, check in, and start looking for Wendell and Monica Wilkins. I'm not sure how common of a name it is, but I suppose there can't be that many of them. At least I hope not."

Ron decided this was sound logic, even if he had his own doubts. He couldn't think of anything else to say, however, and started to look back around the cabin again, boredom settling back in. Several minutes passed, and then one of the stewardesses made her way to the front.

"Tonight's in-flight movie will be _Back to the Future._ We apologize for the _unusual_ selection, but the planned screening of _Les Miserable _is unavailable."

A screen at the front of the cabin lit up with moving images, and Ron put his headset back over his ears. The soundtrack to the motion picture played into his head, clear and loud. Hermione showed him how to set the volume, and he sat back, as an image of the globe appeared on screen, the word _Universal_ set over it.

Two hours later, Ron removed the headset, having been thoroughly entertained. Though he had initially had some trouble with the Muggle concepts behind the story, and how the character called "The Doc" had managed to construct a time-travelling automobile without the use of magic, he was soundly swept up in the action of the plot, as well as the comedy thrown into it. Some of the jokes had fallen flat on him, perhaps, given the foreign nature of their origins, but he could grasp the irony in the fact that the hero's mother had become smitten with him, after his arrival in the year 1955. He could also appreciate the hero's character himself; a young man, otherwise living a boring existence, sent off on an adventure that he had never dreamed of. He realized how much he shared in common with Marty McFly, having gone off on an adventure he had never thought possible, and now he was off on another one. He looked over at Hermione, who had fallen asleep toward the film's climax. He stretched back into his seat, and was about to close his eyes, when the burly man on his other side rustled his newspaper again and spoke gruffly.

"First time flying?" he asked, eyeing Ron. "I never liked it all that much, but some things in this age are necessary."

"Yeah," said Ron, uncertainly, "I don't mind it, so far, though."

"Right," said the man, "I don't suppose we've met, have we? I could swear I've seen you before."

Ron searched his memory. The ruddy face and walrus mustache did stick in his memory, but he couldn't for the life of him remember a name, until the man spoke again.

"Yes," the man squinted his beady eyes at Ron. "I do recognize you. It's the hair; you're one of those _Wesley_ boys…"

"I think you might mean 'Weasley', and yeah, that would be me," said Ron. "And I recognize you, now. You're Harry's uncle. Vernon's the name, right?"

At the mention of his nephew, the man jerked slightly, looking about rapidly, as if making sure no one was eavesdropping.

"Yes," he said, quietly, his face turning a fantastic shade of red. After a moment, in which he seemed to contemplate his next words, he asked, "How is the boy, anyway?"

"Oh, he's fine," said Ron, airily. "He did manage to get rid of You-Know-How, if you're wondering."

"Right," said Vernon, looking quite like he was imitating an owl, the way his head kept spinning about, "That's what the other's said, when they brought us home."

Ron had to think for a moment, before remembering that Harry's relatives had been in hiding with Hestia Jones and Dedalus Diggle.

"Well, it is nice of you to show some concern for your nephew," he said, at last, letting some venom creep into his tone as he spoke. "I thought you didn't really care for him."

"Oh, it's not like that," protested Vernon, his face dropping another shade. "I mean, we tried, Petunia and I, but… When I took him in, I promised myself it would be a normal life for me and my family. I wouldn't let his _nonsense_ make life miserable for us, but then things went all to hell."

"Things did go to hell," said Ron, trying very hard to keep his voice low, not wanting to wake Hermione. "Harry's nearly died on a handful of occasions since you saw him last. Did you ever stop to realize that there was a reason he turned up on your doorstep that night? There was a reason he lived, and now he's a hero. And you could care less."

He gave Vernon such a look of contempt that it satisfied him immensely when the man's shame became evident in his expression, and in the fact that the color in his face, which had been a dark shade of lavender, drained away completely. He stammered for a moment, before speaking in a whisper.

"It's not that I didn't care," he hissed. "I just didn't know what to say to the boy. What _do_ you say? I mean, I never could have imagined anything like that. After all, I'm just a – what is it you call us? Oh yes, _Muggle_. How could I ever understand?"

Ron looked at the man very carefully, and realized that there was some sincerity in his words, and that he seemed genuinely ashamed of his mistreatment of the nephew he never wanted.

"What's more," Vernon continued, "My wife and son would be glad to know he survives. But, why isn't he with you? I expected the three of you were good friends, from what little I've heard."

"He decided to take a rest," said Ron, "He's well, and staying with my family. She and I are looking to find her parents," he indicated Hermione's sleeping form, "As they went into hiding abroad."

Vernon looked at the two of them, and Ron thought he saw something connect behind the man's eyes.

"I see," he said, finally, "Well, I suppose you're going to tell him about this conversation, then?"

Ron had to think about it for a moment, and he couldn't pass up the opportunity to pull the man's strings a bit more.

"I suppose I should. He might get a good laugh from it, perhaps," he said, greatly enjoying the look that appeared on the man's ruddy face.

"If you would say anything to you him about it," Vernon said, quickly, "it would mean something to me if you could ask him to write us. The normal fashion, mind you. I won't have any more ruddy birds coming near my home."

"I can do that, I suppose," said Ron, carefully. "I am to expect that this means you'll give him some of the fair treatment he deserves?"

"Don't expect too much," said Vernon, sharply. "I have little to say to him that would make up for anything, but my son has words to say to him, that I expect would be welcome."

Ron didn't know what to say about this. He had met Harry's cousin on a number of occasions, and none of them had been rather pleasant encounters. However, Vernon Dursley had disappeared behind his newspaper, once more, apparently content to forget the previous conversation had ever taken place.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter VI

Young and Restless

Harry woke the morning after Ron and Hermione had left, feeling quite uncertain with himself. Without his friends to keep him occupied, he hadn't been able to structure his activities well enough to take up his time. So, he had to fill his day with what he imagined would be a lot of idle activities like reading or doing laundry. He started his day by making his bed, by magic; as he had long since dismissed the thought of doing it by hand, now that he could legally do so otherwise. He then made his way to the upstairs bathroom, fancying a good hot shower to work out some of the sore-spots that still lingered in his back and legs. He came out, feeling clean and refreshed, and headed downstairs to find the Ginny in the kitchen, having breakfast. Harry took a seat across from her, as Mrs. Weasley bid him good morning and slid a sizable portion of eggs and sausage in front of him.

"If this keeps up, your mum will have me fattened up," he said to Ginny, so that only she could hear. "What would happen to my 'hero status', then?"

Ginny looked at him and smiled

"You could be absolutely massive and you'd still be my hero," she said in a mock-simper, rolling her eyes.

Harry laughed and nearly choked on a bit of egg, he chewed carefully, before speaking again.

"Well, what do you have planned today?" he asked, hoping it would be something he might enjoy.

"Well," said Ginny, finishing her porridge and taking the empty bowl over to the sink, "Mum wanted me to go to Diagon Alley with her to do some shopping, but I could always stay here, if you can't think of anything to do."

The way she smiled at Harry made him a bit warm in the face, but he didn't want to intrude on allotted mother-daughter time.

"No, I'm fine," he said, feeling thoroughly like he was cheating himself. "I can always just read or find some other way to amuse myself. Go shopping, I hear women like to do that."

"You are a sweet heart," said Ginny, ruffling his hair, before going back upstairs to clean up before leaving.

Harry continued eating his breakfast, and Mrs. Weasley came over with a cup of tea for him.

"So," she said, "What does Mister Potter have on his schedule for today?"

"Oh," said Harry, taking a sip of tea, "I suppose I'll just be having a nice quiet day in."

"I see," said Mrs. Weasley, understandingly. "If you need something to do, Arthur might like your company. He's in the shed, working on that motorbike," Harry was momentarily alarmed, as Mr. Weasley's hobby of tinkering with Muggle contraptions had been a matter of contention between him and his wife. However, Mrs. Weasley seemed to accept it. "Of course I don't mind," she added, apparently noticing Harry's discomfort. "It's something to keep the man busy, after all. He wanted to go back to the Ministry today, but I wouldn't have it. He could use some time off while he can get it, and the Ministry will go on just fine without him."

After he finished eating, he did find Mr. Weasley in the shed in the back garden. He had torn the engine out of the frame of the bike, and was inspecting it rather closely.

"Ah, Harry, my boy," he said when Harry entered, wiping grease off his hands and straightening his glasses. "I was just looking at this fascinating device. It seems it was flooded when the bike crashed into the Tonkses pond. I got most of the water out of it, but I can't seem to get it to work properly. Maybe you can help me."

Harry agreed to offer his assistance, though he had little skill with mechanical matters. He and Mr. Weasley puzzled over the various parts scattered on the bench in front of them. Neither one of them could make any progress at identifying the offending component that prevented the engine from running. Finally, they agreed to bring in some professional assistance, and gathered up some of the parts, while Mr. Weasley scratched a few of the numbers off of the engine block and the motorbike's frame, onto a scrap of parchment. They then went into town with the parts they had, and found a machine shop that serviced small engines.

The place was like a toy store to the older wizard, who could scarcely contain his delight at the various devices that lined the shelves. He wandered off, looking through the items, not touching anything, but inspecting what he could, as he walked down the aisles. Harry took the parts to the counter, where a mechanic was waiting.

"Hi," said Harry, politely. "This is the engine to a motorbike I have, I'm afraid I can't seem to make it run."

"What happened to it?" asked the mechanic, as he looked at the pieces of metal with passing interest.

"Erm… It was driven into a pond, I'm afraid," said Harry, embarrassed. "We thought that if we dried it out, it would work again, and now we can't seem to get it back together properly."

The mechanic looked over the parts carefully, fitting them together with his hands and seeing how they fastened.

"You're missing some bits," he said, finally, "I might have an engine that would replace it, but it wouldn't be very cheap."

"How much?" asked Harry, trying to imagine how he would get the money, if he couldn't visit Gringotts. "The bike has sentimental value to me, and I would hate to see it go to waste."

"I can have it sorted out for about a hundred quid," said the man, continuing to survey the useless motor. "Cash or check is fine."

Harry's heart sank, as he didn't think the mechanic would accept a handful of Galleons, and he knew he didn't have a hundred pounds on hand. Then, Mr. Weasley stepped up to the counter.

"How much was that, again?" he asked, producing a sizable wad of notes from his pocket. Harry was astonished. Mr. Weasley counted out a few bills, and handed them to the mechanic, who looked over them, and said that he could have it ready by tomorrow afternoon. As they left, Harry finally couldn't resist asking.

"How did you come up with that, back there?"

"Oh, that money?" asked Mr. Weasley, trying not to look conspicuous as they walked back toward the Burrow. "George offered me it, and wouldn't take no for an answer. I told him to get it in Muggle notes, so Molly wouldn't see it in our vault and start raising a fuss over it. I won't spend all of it, of course. I'll just wait until I start working again, and it will turn up as a 'bonus' somewhere along the way."

Harry shook his head in amazement.

"Consider that back there a thank you present," continued Mr. Weasley. "I won't have you paying it back, you hear me?"

"Well, if you insist," replied Harry, feeling quite grateful. "But, what are you thanking me for?"

"For keeping my son safe," said Mr. Weasley.

"Oh, Ron took care of himself quite fine," said Harry, now rather uncomfortable. "And, besides, I probably put him in more danger than he needed."

"Don't be so modest," said Mr. Weasley, smiling broadly at Harry. "If it hadn't been for you, Ron might have been snatched up when the Death Eaters came calling last summer. You gave him the opportunity to go out and prove to himself what he can do. I'm as proud of him as any father could be, and I couldn't stand the thought of losing him, especially after losing Fred."

Harry's discomfort deepened and he couldn't find anything to say at all, now.

"Now, don't blame yourself," said Mr. Weasley, correctly identifying Harry's concerns. "I may have lost a son, but I expect I'll be gaining one before too long."

Harry's discomfort turned sharply to embarrassment, as he noticed the knowing look in the other man's eyes. He stammered for a moment before finding coherent words.

"Ginny and I – Well, we're just friends, I mean…" he said, lamely.

"_Damn!" _he thought to himself.

"Don't worry, my boy," said Mr. Weasley reassuringly. "If I had any objections, I would have made them heard. But then, why in Merlin's name would I object? My daughter, paired with _the _Harry Potter? Just don't hurt her, and I'll be as happy as a ghoul in a graveyard."

Harry couldn't imagine hurting Ginny. He nodded solemnly, as they approached the front gate.

"Well then, off with you," said Mr. Weasley. "I know my daughter will want you to go with them to Diagon Alley, and I wouldn't keep you. Oh and don't worry, Molly loves you just as much as any of our boys, and wouldn't say no to you or her daughter. And, this conversation never happened, as far as the two of them are concerned. Old men like me aren't allowed to be nosey." Mr. Weasley winked at Harry and smiled again, before heading off toward the shed, to tinker with some other contraption. Harry, trying to keep his wits, went back inside and asked Mrs. Weasley if he could join them in Diagon Alley. Naturally, Mrs. Weasley was quite pleased for the chaperone, and ushered him along, as they spread Floo Powder into the fire and were swept off to London.

Several thousand miles away, Ron and Hermione disembarked from Flight 143, at Sydney International Airport. Ron had eventually fallen asleep for a few hours, but was woken suddenly, as they passed over the Indian Ocean. The plane had been rocking and shaking rather violently, and the pilot's voice had sounded in the cabin, informing the travellers of the "minor turbulence" they were experiencing. Ron spent the remainder of the flight listening to the music that poured out of his headset. Hermione woke a few moments later. They landed in Australia, with the May sun shining down on them from high in a clear sky. They made their way through the exit terminal, passing a security checkpoint similar to the one they had faced in London. Ron was quite pleased that they hadn't needed to perform the same ritual of passing through the archway, though he now knew better of what to expect. They hurried out onto the curb, where Hermione hailed another Muggle taxi, and asked to be taken to a hotel.

"We'll get settled in, and I'll see if we can get in touch with Harry and the others," she said, as the automobile moved through crowded streets, "I'm not sure where we'll find a post owl, but I'm sure there will be a way to reach them, somehow." She still looked rather tired, and stifled a yawn, as the cab pulled up in front of a tall building.

Ron and Hermione entered at the lobby of the hotel, and Hermione spoke with the clerk at the front desk. After a few moments, the clerk had produced a pair of room keys, and they went on their way, up a flight of stairs, to room 213.

Ron saw that the room was quite comfortable looking, if rather small, with two twin-sized beds set against one wall, and a large chest of drawers against the opposite wall. He sat down on the nearest bed and found that it was quite comfortable. Looking around, he saw that there was also a smaller night-stand between the two beds. On this stand were a luminescent alarm clock, an electric lamp, and what he guessed was a Muggle telephone, with its numeral-labeled buttons. Hermione strode to the far end of the room, and drew the curtains aside, and sunlight streamed in through the windows.

"Well," she said, sitting on the remaining bed, and taking out her beaded bag, "This will do nicely, for now. I only hope we won't have to stay long. I'm not sure if I can afford more than a few nights stay. My college fund is nearly empty, and I want to be sure we'll have enough to pay for the trip home."

Ron wasn't sure what to say to this. He had always been accustomed to a tight monetary situation, but the idea of being stranded in a foreign country was rather alarming to him. He decided to investigate his surroundings a bit more. Sitting on the chest of drawers on the opposite wall, he noticed a large box, with a glass window set in the front. He thought that this might be the "television" that he had heard Harry mention from his time spent with the Dursleys. He looked at it more closely, noticing the row of buttons that were lined up on the bottom-front of the set. Suddenly, it clicked on and he jumped back, slightly alarmed. He looked at Hermione, and saw that she was holding a rectangular device set with an alarming amount of buttons.

Hermione showed him the remote, and how to work it, pointing out which buttons controlled the volume, and the tuner, and Ron suddenly found himself greatly impressed. He sat there, flipping through various programs that appeared on the screen at the press of a button. He stopped for a moment at a Muggle news broadcast, watching as a suited politician shook hands with commoners on the streets. Ron pressed another button, and was suddenly watching a football match between Brazil and Japan.

"Not bad," he murmured to himself, wondering if he could find a Quidditch match among the other programs. He was about to ask Hermione if this was possible, but noticed she was rather busy, herself. She had found another large paper-bound book in one of the drawers of the night stand, and was flipping through it quickly. After a moment, she stopped and traced her finger down a page, frowning slightly. She noticed that Ron was watching her, and began to explain.

"This is a Muggle telephone directory. It lists the names and telephone numbers of people living nearby. I've found the Wilkinses, but there is more than one listing," she bit her lip. "I suppose process of elimination would be best."

She picked up the handset of the telephone, and dialed a string of numbers. The first one had turned out to be a "disconnected number", and she tried another. This one rang, and a grumpy-sounding gentleman answered. Hermione quickly apologized, saying she must have dialed the wrong number. The third number she dialed rang several times, before a voice answered. Hermione nearly cried aloud, but then stopped, as she listened to the voice, her eyes widening as it went on. Then, there was a curious-sounding beep, and she hung up.

"That was them," she said, looking both excited and apprehensive, "Well, their answering machine. They weren't home, and I didn't want to leave a message. I'll try again later this evening."

"Well, that is good news," said Ron, excitedly, "I mean, we know how to reach them, and we can probably find out where they live, right? Why not just go over and reverse the Memory Charm you used on them?"

Hermione shook her head, "I don't want to just barge up to them and start doing magic. I mean, they won't know who I am right away, and I want to be sure I do it properly. Otherwise, they could end up stuck in between half remembering who they really are, while still half believing that they are Wendell and Monica Wilkins. I couldn't do that to them."

Ron wasn't sure what to say to this. He thought of his own parents, and how he might feel if he were in the same situation.

"At least we know how to reach them," he said, finally.

Ron went back to amusing himself with the television, flipping channels idly, letting his mind wander. Hermione was obviously concerned about her parents, and he had no clue how to make her feel better. This lack of direction on his part made him wonder just how things were going to work out. He felt somewhat useless, as he had no idea how Muggle matters like this worked. He decided that he would continue to fill a supportive role, and let Hermione come up with the particulars on finding and setting her parents right.

Harry, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley emerged from the fireplace of the Leaky Cauldron. The pub was not entirely busy, but the patrons that were seated at the bar turned to look at the new arrivals, and Harry suddenly felt like a bright spotlight had been put on him, as several of the old wizards stood to greet him rather reverently, bowing and shaking his hand. Tom, the inn-keeper, asked him if he would like anything to drink, offering him everything from a fresh cup of tea to a whole bottle of French wine. Harry quickly said that he was simply here to do a bit of shopping, and thanked the toothless old wizard for his generosity, before turning and steering Ginny and her mother out into the back, where he quickly tapped his wand on the brick which opened the wall before him into Diagon Alley.

Many of the shops that lined the winding alleyway were still boarded up, as they had been when Harry, Ron and Hermione had last visited, to infiltrate Gringotts, which sat in the distance, a large crowd gathered around it. Harry noticed groups of wizards in bright orange robes moving about from shop to shop, repairing the damage sustained in previous months. Mrs. Weasley made toward the bank, and Harry lagged behind. When Ginny turned back to look at him curiously, he shrugged.

"All things considered," he nodded as another wizard caught Harry's eye and tipped his hat to him, "I think I had better not go near the goblins. I don't think I'm very popular with them, at the moment."

"Oh, of course," said Ginny, lightly, before telling her mother to go on without them, and that they would meet her in one of the shops after she had visited the family vault. They spent the next few minutes amusing themselves with the various shops that were opened since the end of Voldemort's regime; Eeylop's Owl Emporium, Fortescue's Ice Cream Shoppe, which had been re-opened under new management, but had kept the first proprietor's name, and, as they passed a crowd of wizards in orange robes, leaving the store, Harry found that Ollivander's Wand Shop had also reopened. They entered the shop, and Harry found it just as it was when he had arrived nearly seven years ago, to buy his wand. The shelves were a bit barer, perhaps, but the smell of wand wood and dust was like time-travel to Harry. Indeed, as Ollivander himself emerged from behind one of the shelves, Harry saw that he had managed to recuperate well from being a prisoner of Lord Voldemort. He looked at Harry with his silvery eyes and smiled.

"Ah, Mister Potter," he said, cheerfully. "Here for a replacement for your wand, perhaps? I'm afraid I might not have a duplicate of the original phoenix feather that was within it, but I think we might find one that will do well enough for you."

"Oh, no, actually," said Harry, before Ollivander could disappear behind the shelves again. "My wand has been repaired, actually."

Ollivander gave Harry a look of deepest surprise and incredulity. Harry had previously shown him the broken halves of the holly and phoenix feather wand, which the old wandmaker had said would be un-mendable. He stepped closer to Harry, looking curiously at him.

"Might I take a look at it?" he asked. "I don't mean to be presumptuous, but even if the wand has been repair superficially, the damage it had suffered was extensive, and I highly doubt that it would serve nearly as well as it had."

Harry handed over his wand, wondering if Ollivander would recognize what wand had repaired this one. The old wizard peered very closely at the wand, running his fingers along the length of it, testing its rigidity and the quality of the wood. He waved it and it produced a shower of red and gold sparks, as it had when Harry had first been given it. After a moment, he handed it back to Harry, looking rather dumbstruck.

"Quite curious," he said, sounding much like he had when he had explained the connection between Harry's wand and the one that had belonged to Lord Voldemort. "I daresay I have never seen anything like this, in all my years. It was damaged, beyond repair, and now it's whole again, as if it had never happened. Forgive me, my boy, but could you tell me how you managed it?"

Harry wasn't sure what to say, but he decided that he would tell a half-truth to satisfy the wandmaker.

"I came across a powerful magical artifact that I discovered was able to repair my wand," he said, carefully, wondering if the old wizard would buy the story. "I'm afraid I don't have it anymore, however, and I'm not sure where I might find it again."

Ollivander looked at Harry carefully, and then said, "Yes, the Elder Wand did come to you, did it? No need to be so obscure, Mister Potter, I did look into the rumors surrounding such an item after you had mentioned it. If it does exist, I suppose it might be the only thing that could repair a damaged wand the way yours has been repaired."

Harry tried not to let the surprise he felt appear evident on his face, and spoke carefully.

"Yes, but I'm afraid it is lost once more," he said, "It's just as well to me, of course, as I have my wand back. And, besides, we're all better off without such things."

Ollivander looked a bit crestfallen. As Harry has suspected, the old wandmaker had hoped to procure the Elder Wand, to study its properties. However, after a moment, the old man sighed.

"Yes, I suppose you are right," he said, slowly, not looking at Harry, but seeming like he was staring off into space, "Such a wand is indeed a dangerous thing to have. Well, do take care of your wand, Mister Potter. I can't promise you that it could be repaired like that again."

As they left the shop, Mrs. Weasley bustled up to them, looking breathless.

"Quite a mess in there, it is," she said, half-smiling as she ushered the two of them along. Harry thought he saw her wink at him as they went, but didn't say anything more regarding the conversation he had had with Ollivander or the state of Gringotts Bank.

They found themselves in Gladrag's Robe Shop, where Ginny and Mrs. Weasley looked over the various clothes on sale. Harry had noticed Ginny eyeing a very pretty set of magenta dress robes, and Harry made a mental note to get them for her, once he had access to his own vault. As the two women fussed over this item and that, wishing they had more to spend, Harry looked out the front window of the shop to see a familiar face that made his gut lurch. Draco Malfoy, unaccompanied by either of his parents, was sulking down the alley, a travelling cloak drawn over his platinum blonde head. None of the other shoppers noticed him, but Harry had seen and recognized the pointed face almost instantly, as he looked over his shoulder to check behind him. Without a word to Ginny or Mrs. Weasley, Harry slipped out of the shop, and followed the young Malfoy.

Harry was nearly upset with himself for not bringing along his Invisibility Cloak, but decided that Draco would not notice him, as he moved not towards Knockturn Alley, as Harry had initially expected, but toward the wand shop Harry had just visited. Draco stood at the store front, looking up at the sign with apprehension of his face, perhaps fearing that Ollivander would refuse to serve him, for aiding Lord Voldemort. Harry drew up behind him.

"Looking to buy a new wand?" Harry asked, lightly. Draco jumped at the sound of his voice and whirled around. When he faced Harry, the boy's pale eyes widened, and he looked at Harry with a mixture of disdain and something else. Was it fear? Harry broke the silence once more.

"You might not need a new wand," said Harry, as he drew the other boy's hawthorn wand from his moleskin bag. "I thought I should keep this handy, in case I ever saw you again. Thanks for letting me borrow it."

He handed the wand over to Draco, who took it, apprehensively. Once it was in his grasp, however, a look of relief came over the pale face, and he looked back at Harry, disdain replaced with something like gratitude. He spoke, and Harry heard something in his voice that he had never expected; sincerity.

"Thanks," he said simply, before turning and walking back up the alley, toward the Leaky Cauldron. As the young Malfoy disappeared into the crowd, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley appeared, clutching a few bags, and looking alarmed.

"There you are," said Ginny with alarm, though not crossly. "What did you take off for?"

"Oh, I thought I saw someone I recognized," said Harry, lying easily this time. "But, I guess I was wrong."

"Well, we're done here, then," said Mrs. Weasley, and they too made their way toward the pub.

Harry was relieved to find that Draco Malfoy had already left, when they arrived at the Leaky Cauldron. Several of the old wizards who had greeted Harry on his arrival had also left. Now, the pub was nearly empty, save for two wizards sitting at the bar, chatting amiably, and a third patron, that Harry had not noticed before. The man was tall, and rather thin. He was looking at a newspaper, though Harry was surprised to see that it was not the _Daily Prophet,_ but Muggle newsprint, judging by the motionless picture on the front page. The man's shoulder-length brown hair was unkempt and wild-looking, and he wore a pair of square-framed glasses and a patch of goatee on his chin. He brought a hand to his mouth, which Harry saw held a Muggle cigarette, and blew a cloud of smoke into the air around him. As he put out the burning tobacco in a crystal ashtray set on the table, he turned and met Harry's gaze. Harry felt something in the man's look; a type of intent that Harry wasn't sure he trusted. He looked away, however, as Ginny and Mrs. Weasley stepped into the fireplace, and he followed them. As he was swept off into a whirl of green flames, Harry could still see the man watching him.

As Harry Potter vanished, the man closed his newspaper, and sighed wearily. He reached into a pocket of the trench coat he wore, and withdrew a pack of more cigarettes. He selected one, and lit it with the tip of his wand. He drew on the smoke, and thought carefully about his plans.

"_Another missed opportunity,"_ he thought to himself. _"I'm running out of time and options."_


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter VII

Damage Control

Ron Weasley awoke from his slumber with a start. It was now nearly midnight, and he had dozed off watching television, after Hermione had left to use a "public computer" in order to research more about her wayward parents. He stretched and yawned, and saw that the bed next to his was still empty and undisturbed.

"_Can't that woman take just one moment to breathe?"_ he thought crossly, rolling over in the covers. _"I mean, seriously, how much information could she need about her own parents?"_

It was then that he heard movement outside of the door of room 213, as someone inserted a key into the door, and swung it open. It was Hermione, and she was bearing a flat square box.

"Oh, you're awake," she said, setting the box on the foot of Ron's bed. "There's something to eat, if you like."

Ron opened the box and discovered that it was a Muggle curiosity known as 'pizza', though he had never tried it. He selected a slice and sampled it. It was a bit cold, but edible nonetheless.

"Any progress?" he asked, taking another bite.

"Well, I've searched the local police and news databases, to see if my parents had made themselves very well known in their time here," said Hermione, setting her beaded bag on the bedside table and collapsing into her bed. "But, it seems that they have managed to keep to themselves, which is good. If they had any sort of notoriety, it would be much harder to bring them home. People would recognize them as the Wilkinses, and that would be a problem."

Ron finished his first slice of pizza, and was about to take another, when there was a knock at the door. Hermione looked at the alarm clock on the bedside table rather crossly.

"Who could that be," she asked, casting Ron a curious glance, as she stood and went to answer the door. A few moments later, there was a shout, a bang, and Ron had leapt out of bed, too. He faced the doorway, to see Hermione standing there, wand in her hand, and an unconscious figure lying in the hall.

"Help me get him in here!" hissed Hermione, tugging at the person's feet. Ron took out his own wand.

"_Levicorpus,"_ Ron muttered, and the figure rose from the floor, dangled by its ankles, and drifted eerily into the room, as Hermione shut the door. Ron saw the hood slip off of the person's head, and recognized the pointed face and blonde hair.

"Malfoy?" he said, shocked. "What's he doing here?"

"I have no idea, but I intend to figure out," said Hermione, her voice hard, as she took her own wand and directed a chair in the corner to slide over. They sat Draco Malfoy in the chair, and Hermione produced a length of rope from her wand, which coiled around their prisoner.

"We can't keep him here forever, can we?" asked Ron, pacing a few steps, "I mean, surely if someone comes to clean the room, they'll notice someone tied up."

"I know," said Hermione, fretfully. "But I can't risk him hurting us," She was searching his robes, now, and when she found his wand, she looked at it for a moment. "Strange, this is his wand, but I thought Harry still had it," She handed it to Ron, who did recognize it as the same hawthorn wand that Harry had been using previously. He tossed it onto his bed and watched carefully, as Hermione pointed her wand at Draco and muttered, "_Rennervate."_

Draco awoke with a start, and began to fight against his bonds, staring up at his captors with fury.

"What are you doing?" he spat, "Untie me this instant!"

"_Silencio!"_ whispered Hermione, and Draco fell silent. "I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing here? Why are you following us? I thought I saw you on the street, but I couldn't be sure. What is it you want?"

She removed the Silencing Charm, and Draco looked up at both of them plaintively, before speaking.

"My father sent me," he said, quietly. "He had caught wind that you might be travelling, and he wanted me to find you and 'make them pay', as the tosser had put it. I wasn't going to, of course. The old man is bitter and losing his grip. I wouldn't have come here if he hadn't threatened to disinherit me. I assure you, I'm not here to harm you; I wasn't even sure I would find you." Hermione looked at Ron with concern.

"Do you believe him?" she asked. Ron looked at Malfoy with distaste, and wasn't sure what to believe.

"I know I don't deserve to be trusted," Malfoy continued bitterly. "And, I didn't expect you to exactly welcome me when I showed up at the door, but I had hoped I could have said something before you jinxed me, Granger. Despite everything I've said and done to treat you like owl droppings over the years, I have to admit, you're pretty good."

Hermione was clearly taken aback for a moment. She looked incredulously at the pathetic young man that had taunted her for so long. Had Malfoy, self-anointed purest of purebloods, just paid Hermione a compliment?

"That doesn't prove anything," she said, after a moment. "We still can't be sure you won't try to kill us when you're free. Not that you would get very far." She was sure to put a very cold edge in her voice.

"You have my wand," said Draco. "And, that reminds me; Potter gave it back to me, himself. Not sure why, but I was going to buy a new one, so it's just as well, I suppose. Don't worry; I didn't try anything. Not after what happened to the last one who crossed him."

Ron and Hermione looked at one another quite astonished.

"Look, I came here to apologize," said Malfoy, as he fidgeted in his restraints. "So, I might as well out with it. I'm sorry I helped You-Know-Who; I'm sorry I nearly killed you and Potter. I'm sorry I've been a complete ass over the years, and I'm sorry I didn't treat you fairly, Weasley." He was looking at Ron, now, and this was truly bizarre to him, who was entirely used to the Draco Malfoy that considered him a blood-traitor for consorting with Harry Potter and Muggle-borns.

"I haven't forgotten," Draco continued, "that you and Potter saved me more than once, that night at the castle. I should be dead, but I'm not, thanks to the three of you."

"Don't mention it," said Ron, flatly, and he waved his wand at the ropes that bound Malfoy. They unwound and he was free again. He stood, stretching his hands and looking at the two of them uncertainly.

"Don't take this to mean we're all going to be good friends," said Malfoy. "I can't be sure father will believe me when I get home and tell him that I couldn't find you. I can make it convincing enough, though. He knows that you're pretty good with protective spells," He was looking at Hermione, "In fact, you're pretty good with every spell."

Hermione looked entirely shocked, as she sat on the foot of her bed, looking between Ron and Draco as if she thought she might be dreaming.

"I'll be leaving then," said Draco. "Could I have my wand back?"

Ron snatched the hawthorn wand back off of the bed, and handed it to Malfoy, who stuffed it back into the pocket of his cloak, looking meek and uncertain. Then, without another word, he strode over to the door, and was gone. A few moments of silence passed. Hermione looked at Ron again, and spoke breathlessly.

"I wish I had remembered to use those protective enchantments, this time," she murmured. "It completely slipped my mind. I even forgot about Harry's Sneakoscope. I didn't imagine it would come to that, but I wanted to have it just in case."

Ron didn't say anything, as he put his own wand back in his pocket and dropped onto the bed.

"Well, at least it was a pleasant visit, eh?" he said, smiling half-heartedly. "I mean, Malfoy just said you're 'pretty good', and that's like an admission of deepest affection from him."

Hermione laughed weakly.

"Well, I'll be getting a shower and going to bed," she said, picking up her beaded bag and standing. "I tried my parents from a pay phone while I was out, and there was still no answer. We'll try again tomorrow."

With that, she left, going through another door into the bathroom, and Ron climbed back into bed, flipping on the television. What would be next on this mad little adventure they had gone on?

Harry awoke that morning, still restless, as he considered what he would do on this second day without word from Ron or Hermione. He was worried that they hadn't gotten in touch, but was sure they would be fine. He got dressed, made his bed, made a quick detour to the bathroom to brush his teeth, and made his way to the kitchen for another large portion of breakfast. He noticed that Ginny was lagging behind this morning, and was nearly done his toast and jam, when she descended, looking quite dreamy, her hair still a bit matted.

"Sleep well?" he asked, smiling at her over a cup of tea. She yawned and smiled back.

"Well enough," she said, thickly. "That ghoul is back to putting up a fuss whenever it pleases, now that we've moved him back into the attic. It seems he had gotten used to being Ron."

Harry laughed and took another sip of tea. Ginny took a seat across from him and Mrs. Weasley set a plate of toast in front of her.

"Your father and I are going to be fixing Sirius's old motorbike, later today," said Harry. "You can come along, if you like."

"I suppose that could be a good way to kill time," said Ginny. "But what do we do in the meantime?" She was eyeing her mother very closely, as she bustled off to feed the chickens.

"I'm sure we can find ways to entertain ourselves," said Harry, daring himself not to smile too broadly.

Later that day, the two of them visited Mr. Weasley, who was once more in the shed in the back garden. He was covered in dust, having disassembled a vacuum cleaner, this time.

"Ah, there you are," he said, coughing a bit. "I was just about to come looking for you, but then this amazing contraption caught my interest, and I lost all track of time."

The three of them went down into the village together. This time, Harry wheeled the frame of the motorbike along, deciding that he would take the chance to reassemble it as soon as he had the parts required. They found the machine shop they had visited the day before, and the same Muggle mechanic eyed them as they entered.

"Ah, yes," he said, waving toward Harry. "I have that engine all sorted out for you, then," He disappeared into the back for a moment, and returned bearing the fully assembled engine bock on a small dolly. The three of them, Harry, Mr. Weasley, and the mechanic, took it out to the front of the shop, where Harry had parked the rest of the motorbike. A few moments later, the Muggle had wrenched the bolts that held the engine to the frame, with an electric wrench. Mr. Weasley was undoubtedly fascinated by the process and took the opportunity to watch closely, asking questions when he felt it was appropriate. More than once, the mechanic looked at him rather irritably. Harry took Mr. Weasley aside for a moment.

"If this works," he said, "would it be all right if Ginny and I went for a ride?"

"Oh, of course, Harry," said Mr. Weasley, fondly. "It is to be yours, after all. I would tell you to be careful, but I don't imagine there will be any trouble."

After topping off the fuel and other fluids, the mechanic climbed astride the bike, and kicked it to life. The new engine sputtered a bit and the exhaust pipe belched out a few clouds of thick black smoke. Soon enough, however, the tone of the bike evened out to a low rumble. The mechanic stepped back, wiping his hands on a rag, and looked at Harry, apparently pleased with himself.

"Well, that takes care of it," he said, jovially. "Take good care, lad, and don't go driving into anymore ponds, you hear?"

Harry assured the mechanic that this wouldn't be a problem, before climbing onto the bike himself. He had never actually driven any motorbike, but he knew how to work the throttle and figured the rest would come to him. He looked at Ginny and smiled, as she climbed onto the bike behind him, putting her arms around his waist. They sped off up the lane, with Mr. Weasley waving to them as they went. Once they were out of town, Harry steered the bike into the air, and they were off. They soared over the sweeping hills below, whooping their exhilaration. Harry wasn't sure if he preferred this vehicle to a broom, but he had to admit that there was a certain something about feeling the roar of the engine beneath him. He could understand why Sirius had preferred it. When he thought of Sirius, another thought came to mind.

"Mind if we take a little detour?" Harry asked Ginny, over the sound of the bike. He felt her squeeze him slightly, and took that as permission. He adjusted his heading, and on an impulse, revved the engine before speeding off into the clear blue sky.

At long last, Hermione finally managed to make contact with a Monica Wilkins, the next morning. She introduced herself by name and stated that she was living in the house they had sold when they moved abroad, and found an old pair of socks that must have belonged to one of them. She admitted that it was silly, but she went on to talk about how she had lost many socks, and never had any of them returned, so she imagined it would be nice. Somehow, all of this worked, and they were invited over for tea later that day. Hermione hung up the phone with a look of satisfaction and acute awareness of what this meant.

"I found them," she said, simply. "Now I can bring them home."

Ron was in good spirits as well, as this meant that the waiting would be over, and they would be venturing from room 213, which was starting to feel cramped.

Later that day, Ron and Hermione boarded another Muggle taxi, which took them to a neat suburban neighborhood. As they arrived at their destination, Hermione looked quite anxious. She stepped up to the door and knocked. In a few moments, the door was answered by Monica Wilkins, or Mrs. Granger, looking very much like an older version of her daughter, though her hair was a bit shorter.

"Hello," she said warmly, smiling. "Thank you for coming."

"Thank you for having us," replied Hermione, courteously.

"Well, please come in! Make yourselves comfortable," said Mrs. Wilkins/Granger, beckoning them inside. As they entered, Ron noticed that their home was quite pleasant and cozy. Unlike Harry's aunt and uncle's home, always been starkly clean and oppressive, this house was cheerful and bright, with potted plants set out around the living area. They went into the sitting room, where a tray set with tea was already waiting. They took their seats as Mrs. Wilkins poured their tea.

"Is Mr. Wilkins home, then?" asked Hermione, casually.

"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Wilkins, "He's upstairs cleaning up. He should be joining us shortly," She served tea to the two of them, and took her own, cupping the saucer in her hands and blowing at the steam rising from her cup. Hermione fidgeted slightly, and Ron wondered if Mrs. Wilkin's behavior was reminiscent of her previous identity. Hermione took a sip of her tea and bit her lip slightly.

"I imagine there has to be some reason you made the trip out here," said Mrs. Wilkins, suddenly. "You can't have just decided on a whim to come all the way to Sydney over a pair of socks. Are you newlyweds on honeymoon?"

Ron choked on his own tea, spluttering as Hermione laughed embarrassedly.

"No, we're not married," she said, blushing, "We were just here on holiday."

"Oh, I see," said Mrs. Wilkins, apparently embarrassed as well. "Not meaning to pry, I was merely curious."

The next few moments passed in silence, until Mr. Wilkins joined them. He pecked his wife on the cheek, and took a seat next to her. He was tall, and somewhat balding, but he seemed good natured as he eyed Ron and Hermione over his own tea, which Mrs. Wilkins had already poured for him.

"So, you're the one who bought our old house," he said, "How do you like the place?"

"Oh, it's quite nice," said Hermione, "Peaceful, and more than enough room for myself."

"Yes, it was a shame to sell the place," said Mr. Wilkins, "But, when the missus and I decided to finally go for the move, we knew couldn't keep it. Was your trip over pleasant?"

"Yes," said Hermione, "quite uneventful." She passed a look to Ron that he imagined meant something, but he couldn't be sure what.

"Well, let's see these socks of ours, then," said Mrs. Wilkins. "I still don't know why you took all the trouble to bring them, but I suppose if that's why you're here, we won't keep you waiting."

Hermione set down her tea, and with the slightest of a tremble, she opened her beaded bag. The socks she produced from within were large and gray, and one of them had a hole. She handed them to Mrs. Wilkins. As she and her husband stared at them, their eyes unmistakably went out of focus. Ron looked toward Hermione, who was concentrating hard, soundlessly wording a complex incantation. Once she had finished her spell, the couple who had previously been known as Wendell and Monica Wilkins came out of their trance. They looked at each other, and then at their daughter. Ron could tell they recognized her for who she really was, now.

"Mum?" asked Hermione, breathlessly, "Dad?"

"Hermione," said Mrs. Granger, for she was no longer Monica Wilkins, as she reached forward to touch her daughter's face. Then they were all three hugging each other tightly.

"I'm s-so s-sorry," sobbed Hermione, "I never meant to hurt either of you. I-I just wanted to be s-sure you would be s-safe."

"We know, darling," said Mrs. Granger, softly. "We're just glad to see you again." She kissed her on the head, and then looked toward Ron, beaming.

"Thank you," she said to him, "for keeping her safe."

Ron was dumbstruck, feeling quite out-of-place.

"It was no trouble," he said, valiantly. "She's brilliant, she is. I just got in the way."

"Oh, stop," said Hermione, smiling at him through teary eyes, "He was excellent, and so was Harry. It's over; the fighting is done. We can go home, now."

They all sat there for some time, talking and catching up. Despite being Muggles, the Grangers knew a good deal about the war that had been fought between Voldemort and the Order, apparently afforded by their daughter. Indeed, as Hermione relayed some of the less-frightening details of their quest to defeat Voldemort, Mr. Granger surprised Ron once or twice with a few well-worded questions that even he wouldn't have thought to ask in a similar situation. It was late evening, when they finally decided they would retire for the night. Hermione had been about to call a taxi, to return them to their hotel, when Mrs. Granger insisted that they take the spare bedroom. Ron was glad to be staying somewhere other than room 213, as the sheets had been starched, and made him itch terribly the night before.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter VIII

Home at Last

Harry parked the motorbike on the street in front of number 13, Grimmauld Place, and watched as number 12 rose up in the space between it and number 11. Ginny reached out and took his hand as they walked toward the front door. Harry opened the door and peered inside. There were distinct signs of intrusion, and Harry felt a ripple of anger course through him at the thought of Deatheaters ransacking the place. Shortly after this, he realized something that might have been lost on him only a few years before. _He had a home._ Sirius had indeed rightfully left the house to Harry, and that knowledge gave him a satisfaction that he still had something to defend. He stepped inside, and acknowledged that the mess left behind would take some work to clean up. Once it had been straightened out, however, he knew that the house would be quite comfortable.

Moody's enchantments had fully dissipated, it seemed, as Harry noticed neither signs of the Tongue-Tying Jinx, nor the spectral dust-form of Dumbledore as he stepped down the hall, peering around as he went. He couldn't be sure that there weren't still unwelcome guests in the house, and he reached for his wand at the sounds of rats scurrying about overhead. Ginny shuddered and grabbed his arm tighter.

"Relax," Harry said, reassuringly. "_Homenum Revelio,"_ He had never used the spell before, and was rather surprised by the sensation of his senses being extended and sweeping over the house. However, he could detect no other human presence.

"Sorry," said Ginny, loosening her vice-like grip. "The place was always a little creepy to me. Even when the Order used it, I had terrible nightmares here,"

"Well, that will change, I'm sure," said Harry, as he took another look around. He made his way toward the stairs, and Ginny followed him. He felt something drawing him toward Sirius's old bedroom. He entered, and found it the same as it had been when he, Ron and Hermione had last visited. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he found himself carefully scanning the room with his eyes, taking in every detail. He spotted something he hadn't noticed before, sticking out from under a wardrobe in the back of the room. He went over and picked up what was a plain leather-bound notebook. He opened it and saw that the first few pages were filled with familiar handwriting.

It seemed to have been kept by the four boys who had been known as the Marauders while at Hogwarts. He could pick out Sirius's rather sloppy script, along with the neat and careful handwriting of Remus Lupin. He had never seen his father's handwriting before, but he noticed that it was much like Harry's own, in some ways. On one or two pages, he could even spot barely-legible scratches, which he expected were left by Peter Pettigrew. As he scanned the pages, he could see that it detailed much of the boys' experiments with magic. He spotted a few notes regarding the creation of the Marauder's map, as well as their foray into Animagus Transfiguration. He sat down on the side of the bed, and smiled to himself, as he flipped back to the front page, and noticed that, while it had been blank before, it now had words, appearing on it as if written by a ghost. He read, realizing that it was indeed his father's script.

_Congratulations, noble friend. You have stumbled upon the notes and discoveries of the infamous Marauders. If you are reading this text, it sadly means that we are no longer of this world. Otherwise, this book would not have presented itself to you. You have been found worthy to be entrusted to our combined knowledge. We ask that you treat what we have found with care, for in the wrong hands, this knowledge could prove disastrous. With these dry formalities out of the way, let me again congratulate you, on the behalf of my colleagues. _

_Sincerely,_

_Messers Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs_

_The Marauders_

Harry felt Ginny put her arms around him, and realized rather suddenly that his eyes were a bit wet. He stood and wiped the tears away, and smiled.

"I think a cup of tea would be nice," said Ginny, smiling back.

They left the room, and made their way to the kitchen. As they went, Harry used a Shrinking Charm to reduce the notebook to a size that would fit into his pocket. They found the kitchen as cold and empty as the rest of the house. Harry directed his wand at the grate, and produced a fire the added warmth and light to the room. He noticed that several chairs had been over-turned and that a thick coating of dust had been left on much of the surfaces. He had a sudden thought.

"Kreacher," he said, "Do come, if you aren't busy."

At his request, the elf Apparated into the room, wrinkled and hunched over as ever. He turned and looked up at Harry from a low bow.

"Master Potter," he said in his croaking voice. "Kreacher hopes you are well."

"I am quite well, thank you," said Harry. "And you are well, I trust?"

"Kreacher is indeed well, and most glad to see that Master Potter has returned to his home" Harry noticed that there was a deep sincerity to the elf's manner, as opposed to the grudging way that Kreacher had served him before. Harry knew that the elf was bound to follow Harry's orders by powerful magic, and while that unnerved him, he was glad to know that it was also willingly that the elf now obeyed him.

"I understand that elf magic works differently that wizard's magic," said Harry, considering if his request might be considered too far beyond the creature's capabilities. "If you could, I would like your assistance with a task."

"Kreacher lives to serve his Master," said the elf, bowing low again, "Master only has to give the command and it shall be done."

"The portrait of Mistress Black that hangs in the hall," said Harry, "I would like it to be moved to Master Regulus's room. Can you do that for me?"

"Kreacher would be honored to do as Master wishes," the elf croaked, not offering an objection, nor did he mutter displeasure at the thought of the task.

As the elf turned, Harry had a sudden thought.

"If you like, you may also move your own belongings to Master Regulus's room, and call it your home. I think it would be what he would have wanted."

The old elf took to his task with high spirits, removing the supposedly unmovable portrait of Walburga Black from the hall with what appeared to be great ease. Meanwhile, Harry set to cleaning up the kitchen, clearing the dust from the room with the few cleaning spells he knew. Ginny helped, but being that she was still underage, couldn't use magic to aid him. Once the kitchen's surfaces were scrubbed and polished, Harry moved to the main hall, using a broom he found in the cupboard to sweep away most of the dust. He then set to removing the mounted elf heads from the wall. It was tedious work, and he found himself wondering what he might do with the wretched things, when Kreacher reappeared from upstairs.

"Kreacher wishes to know what Master Potter intends to do with Kreacher's ancestors," he asked, not crossly, but with the faintest tremble of reverence in his voice. Harry, having forgotten the familial connection the elf had to the stuffed things, felt somewhat uneasy.

"If you like," he said, carefully, "You may keep them in your new quarters. I can understand that you might appreciate keeping your family nearby."

Harry saw tears welling in the elf's eyes, and he wondered for a moment if the shock of being afforded such consideration would be enough to kill him. However, the elf croaked a very long-winded appreciation to the gesture, and took the last remnants of his kin up to Master Regulus's old room.

Harry spent the rest of the day cleaning as much has he could manage. He left Sirius's room untouched, for the time being, for reasons even he couldn't properly put into words. Even if it had been over two years since his godfather's death, he couldn't bring himself to disturb what had once been his home. That evening, he used a bit of Floo Powder they had found in one of the kitchen cupboards to contact the Burrow. Harry's head appeared in the fireplace, and he saw Mr. Weasley sitting comfortably in his armchair by the fire.

"Oh! Hello Harry," he said, smiling broadly, "I trust that the motorbike is working well?"

"Quite well, thank you again," said Harry. "I just wanted to let you know that Ginny and I are at Grimmauld Place. We've been tidying up around here, and I lost track of the time. I can send her home, if you like."

"Nonsense," said Arthur, genially. "She's welcome to stay with you for the evening. You have my trust."

Harry was quite dumbstruck, and tried not to let the color in his face show too much, as he thanked Mr. Weasley and bade him a good night. As Harry's head disappeared from the flames, Arthur looked toward his wife, who was knitting in a chair outside of view from the fireplace.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked him, skeptically.

"Oh, most definitely," said Arthur setting aside a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ with a slight glance toward the headline _Shacklebolt Puts Umbridge in Shackles_. "Harry's proven himself a fine lad, and you and I both know that our daughter has her heart set on him. They would make a fine couple."

"Grandchildren," said Molly, wistfully. "I can't believe we would live to see the day."

The looked into the flames together, envisioning a brighter future.

"Besides," said Arthur, smiling roguishly, "we have an empty nest, tonight."

The look his wife gave him made him glad that he had reached the distinct age that he could be an absolute rascal and get away with it.

On the far side of the world, dawn broke over Sydney with some clouds of the puffy white variety, which cast beautiful rays of light whenever they passed in front of the sun. Ron woke first, and he cast a glance at the sleeping form of Hermione next to him. He thought for a moment of the apprehension he had felt at the prospect of traveling abroad. Now that the task was complete, he was now anxious to go home. After a few moments lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, Hermione stirred.

"Morning," she said, serenely. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah," said Ron, still partially lost in thought.

They got up and dressed, and a few moments later, Mrs. Granger knocked on the door to the guest room.

"Come in, Mum," said Hermione, as she reached into her beaded bag for a small notepad. Ron noticed a long column of figures on the paper, and he realized that it was a list of expenses from their trip aboard. There was one amount at the top of the page, circled in red ink. He also noticed that the running total, afforded by magically calculating ink, was running dangerously close to the circled amount. It denoted this by periodically flashing the same red color. Mrs. Granger entered as Hermione took out a quill and ink, and turned to a fresh page, scribbling figures and calculations on the page with a worried expression.

"Breakfast is ready, downstairs," said Mrs. Granger, warmly to the both of them.

"Go ahead, Ron," said Hermione, distractedly, "I'll be down in a moment."

Ron looked at Hermione with some concern, but didn't argue with the prospect of food. He left the room and went down to the kitchen. Hermione continued to scratch away at the paper, trying not to be overly aware that her mother was watching closely.

"You look tired," said Mrs. Granger.

"I'm fine," said Hermione, not looking up from her work.

"You always say that… I remember when you were eight, and you sprained your wrist while riding bicycle. You were perfectly content to let it heal on its own, even on the way to the hospital," Mrs. Granger laughed faintly. "You are so strong-willed."

She sat down on the bed next to Hermione, and put a hand over the pad on which she was still scribbling. Hermione looked up and saw the tears in her mother's eyes. She had been dreading this.

"When you were away," said Mrs. Granger, slowly, "it felt like part of me was missing. I had no idea who you were, or that you even existed, but something kept telling me…" She trailed off for a moment, biting her lip. "It's so good to have you back, sweetie. You are so special to your father and me."

"Mum," said Hermione, weakly, "everything is okay, now. We can go home and everything will be back to normal."

"Of course it will," said Mrs. Granger. She paused for a moment, and then said, "So, this Ron seems like a fine lad."

"He is," said Hermione, putting aside her embarrassment. "I'm not sure how we could have made it without him."

Mrs. Granger looked at her daughter knowingly, "You've become such a wonderful young woman."

"Mum," said Hermione, again, "if you want me to stay with you and dad for a while, when we get home…"

"No, it's nothing like that," said Mrs. Granger, "You have proven to be more than capable of taking care of yourself. I do miss home, but how will we get the house back if it's been sold?"

Hermione smiled despite herself, "I took care of that. After you two left, I went to the realtor that had the deed to the house. For someone like me, it was remarkably easy to persuade them." She reached into her beaded bag again, and produced a piece of paper. "When you and dad sign this, it will be like you never left."

Mrs. Granger looked at the paper with surprise, "You've really thought of everything, haven't you?"

Hermione's smile became a grimace, "Not everything… I'm not sure how we'll get home. I spent all of the college money you and dad saved up. I'm sorry, I know I was supposed to save it for something important, but this was important."

"It's okay," said Mrs. Granger, smiling. "Something tells me you won't need a degree to get by. Your father and I can cover the expenses to travel home."

"I couldn't ask you to do that," said Hermione. "You wouldn't even be here, if I hadn't—"

"You did what you thought was best to protect us," said Mrs. Granger. "I couldn't blame you for one moment."

At that moment, Ron came back upstairs, clutching a piece of parchment.

"Post owl showed up," he said, bitterly, his ears scarlet. "It's from my mum. She's livid that we haven't written her…"

"Is the owl still here?" said Hermione. "I can write her back." She took out a fresh piece of parchment and wrote a quick note.

_ Dear Mrs. Weasley,_

_ Ron and I are safe and have found my parents. We should be returning home soon._

_ Love,_

_ Hermione and Ron_

They went downstairs to find Mr. Granger looking very curiously, though apprehensively, at the large barn own that was helping itself to the remainder of Ron's toast. Hermione attached the note to the owl's leg.

"Return to sender, please," she said, reaching into her beaded bag for wizard coins. She deposited two Sickles in the pouch on the owl's leg, but it refused to move.

"It's ten Sickles for international post," said Ron, looking at the owl with distaste at what he considered a raw deal.

"Right…" said Hermione, counting out eight more silver coins.

Once paid, the owl launched itself out the open window it had come through.

"I'll never understand how they find people like that," said Hermione.

"Wait… Little Miss Know-It-All admits that she doesn't understand something? Someone tell the _Prophet_," said Ron, jovially, "So, what's the plan?"

"Plan?" said Hermione. "You're too used to being on the run… I think the planning thing fell apart somewhere between Shell Cottage and Gringotts."

"You know what I mean," said Ron, "What are we doing? I mean, I'm not trying to rush or anything, but if this letter means anything, my mum will be absolutely raving by the time we get home."

"What exactly did she say?" asked Hermione, trying to get a good look at the writing. Ron pulled it away, his ears darkening in the usual fashion.

"It's nothing," he muttered. "Just the usual- 'I could never forgive myself for letting you go on some god-awful trip if anything were to happen…' you know. Mother stuff…"

Hermione didn't voice the doubt that popped into her head, and was not surprised when Ron took a moment to burn the offending letter with his wand. She shook her head in equal parts amusement and confusion.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter IX

Improvisation

Harry woke that morning to the smell of food from somewhere downstairs. He rolled over to see the empty space in the bed next to him.

"_And she cooked my breakfast," _he thought, smiling to himself. He stood, tossed on some clothes, and made his way to the kitchen. There he found Ginny, dressed in a nightgown she had found among some of the belongings her family had left behind when the Order had vacated. When she saw Harry, a smile lit up her face.

"Morning," she said, pecking him on the cheek.

"Indeed," said Harry, as she set a plate of eggs and sausage in front of him.

They wiled away the morning, content to sit around and waste time. It was around noon when Mr. Weasley's head popped into the fireplace, to find them playing Wizard's Chess.

"Ah," he said, "Afternoon."

"Hello, Mr. Weasley," said Harry, politely. "How is everything?"

"Good," said Arthur, deliberately. "Ron and Hermione wrote back. They say they've located Hermione's parents and should be returning home soon."

"That's excellent! Thanks for letting me know," Harry said, excitedly.

"Naturally," said Arthur, and Harry thought he caught the slightest of knowing glances, before his head disappeared from the flames. Ginny sighed.

"They're going to be insufferable, now," she said. "I'm sure you know why."

"They're just looking out for you," said Harry. "I would probably do the same, for my own daughter," Harry suddenly imagined himself surrounded by nearly identical children, and had to avoid laughing at the thought.

"It is good news that Ron and Hermione are doing well," said Ginny, before commanding her knight to take one of Harry's pawns.

"Right," said Harry, as he nudged his rook to take revenge on Ginny's knight. Then, suddenly, a thought occurred to him.

"I'm calling a forfeit," he said, suddenly. Ginny frowned.

"I was just starting to get the upper hand," she said, disgruntled, "Anyway, what's so important."

"A mad idea just came to me," Harry said, standing and pulling a cloak over him. He motioned for a very confused Ginny to follow him as he strode down the hall and out the front door. The street was empty, but Harry could make out the sounds of children playing at a nearby park. He looked around to be sure there were no bystanders. Satisfied that he and Ginny were the only two people on Grimmauld Place, he threw out his right hand.

The sound of the waves crashing against the shore was soothing, broken periodically by the sounds of gulls squabbling over whatever scraps they could find. Ron looked out over the glistening sea, and he was forcefully reminded of the time spent at Shell Cottage. He then looked back at Hermione, who was talking with her parents about plans to relocate them.

"We can send for your things," said Hermione. "If you can just pack what you need for the trip, we can leave by the end of the week."

Her mother seemed apprehensive.

"I just didn't expect everything to happen so quickly," she said. "I mean, it's only been a few hours since we realized who we really are. Before, we had weeks to plan the trip here."

This confirmed Ron's unasked question regarding the Memory Charm Hermione had placed on them; The Grangers fully retained the memories they had as Wendell and Monica Wilkins. Ron had to consider for a moment what it might be like, to have memories of someone else. Then, a startling realization occurred to him when he remembered that Harry would know what it was like, having been privy to some of Voldemort's most private thoughts. He pushed the thought aside, and instead cast his mind back out to the sea. The sun was starting to set, and it cast a beautiful array of colors against the sky, mirrored by the water below. He took a deep breath of the salty air and sighed. He wondered if he could convince Hermione to spend some time here, instead of being in such a rush to return to Britain. He was just considering plucking up the courage to ask, when there was a sudden _BANG_.

There, glistening purple in the setting sun, the triple-decker Knight Bus sat. The doors opened, and a beaming Harry Potter dashed out at them.

"Found you!" he said, jovially. Hermione was the first to find her voice.

"Harry? Harry!" she said, in awe, bringing him in for a hug. "I thought the Knight Bus wasn't in operation again, yet."

"Aye, it weren't," said a voice from inside. "But, for Mister 'Arry Potter, I decided to make an exception."

Stan Shunpike came out of the bus, looking a bit care-worn, but quite healthy. Hermione bit her lip. Harry noticed the look she gave him.

"We already came to terms with what happened over Little Whinging, last summer," said Harry, cryptically. "He agrees that I was right to avoid lethal force, and he apologized for letting himself fall into a Death Eater's Imperius. Not that he needed to…"

"Now, Mister Potter, you accepted my 'pology, so I won't 'ear anything more." said Stan, extending a hand to help Ginny disembark, whom Hermione also pulled into a hug.

"So, ready to head back?" said Harry. "Free transport overseas, and comfortable."

Ron sighed. Harry noticed, and he gave Ron a quizzical look.

"We didn't need your help," he muttered.

"Sorry?" said Harry, "I thought I would surprise you… After all, you didn't seem too keen on taking a plane over; I thought I would spare you the trouble for the return trip."

"We don't always need Hero Harry to save the day," said Ron, forcing to keep his voice level. The look of hurt on Harry's face was oddly satisfying, but at the same time disturbing.

"Ron, he's just trying to help," said Hermione, gently. "And to be honest, I'm glad he turned up. This saves us a great deal of time and, moreover, it saves my parents on airfare."

Ron grimaced. He couldn't fault his best friend for trying to be helpful, but all the same, he couldn't overcome the disappointment he felt at having what he felt was a lovely vacation being cut short. Suddenly, Stan spoke up.

"All you lot are welcome aboard, no charge."

Hermione glanced at her parents, and said, "What do you think?"

Mr. Granger seemed to have gotten over the initial shock of a purple triple-decker bus suddenly bursting into existence.

"I guess we'll send for our things, then," he said, and Mrs. Granger nodded, still unable to find words.

"That settles it," said Harry, a hint of smugness in his voice. Ron looked at him and made a derisive noise. His hand inched toward his wand. Harry noticed and his eyes widened with shock. Ginny gave Hermione a pleading look. Hermione leaned over and whispered something. Ron looked at her in surprise, and she leaned in. Harry and Ginny exchanged an awkward glance. Ron sighed and took a moment to collect his thoughts.

"Let's go home. Sorry, mate," Ron shuffled his feet, glancing at Harry.

"Don't mention it," Harry said, with finality to his voice. "We're all friends here, and family. After all we've been through; you truly are like a brother to me." He extended a hand toward Ron, and Ron took it in a firm handshake. The last of his disappointment faded away, and he smiled.

They all boarded and found comfortable seating, in the many armchairs strewn about. Hermione's parents requested that they make a stop by their house, to gather up a few belongings. While they and Hermione were inside, Ron and Harry took the opportunity to catch up.

"You didn't hear this from me," said Harry. "But your dad did me a favor this past week with Sirius's old motorbike; paid in full to replace the engine."

"You're joking," said Ron. "How could he?"

Harry shrugged, "I guess George forced him to accept a bit of money. Your mum doesn't know about it, so I would keep quiet about it for now."

"Right," said Ron, then he remembered something. "Oh, you'll never guess who I spoke with on the plane." He told Harry about the encounter with Vernon Dursley, and Harry's face darkened, his expression contemplative.

"So, Dudley wants to have a word…" Harry said, pensively, "I wonder what it could be about."

"Dunno," said Ron, stretching back into his seat. "But, he said you would want to hear it."

This interested Harry. He remembered the last time he and his cousin has seen each other. Dudley had expressed, in his own haphazard way, some form of gratitude for Harry saving him from dementors before Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts. He wondered if it would be more of that; maybe even an apology for the mistreatment Harry had endured for years up to that point. He sighed, and shrugged.

"I'll write them when we get back," he said.

"Muggle post," Ron advised him. "Based on what was said; your uncle might have a coronary if you send an owl. Oh yeah, did you happen to run into Malfoy, recently?"

Thoughts of his only living relatives were suddenly pushed aside in Harry's mind.

"Yeah, I saw him in Diagon Alley, just a few days ago," he said. "He was going to Ollivander's for a new wand."

"And you gave him back his old one," said Ron.

"Yeah," said Harry, dumbstruck. "How did you know?"

"Wait a moment," said Ginny. "That's where you went when you left mum and me in Gladrag's? Why didn't you tell us?"

Harry grimaced at having been found out, "I didn't want you to worry."

"Harry, you killed Lord Voldemort, I would have been more worried about Malfoy. Though, not enough to lose any sleep."

Ron chuckled, and continued.

"He turned up, probably just after you saw him." Ron noticed the look of concern on Harry's face, and he explained further, "No trouble came of it. Actually, I was a bit surprised. He's grateful that we saved him at Hogwarts. He even admitted that Hermione is 'pretty good.' Can you believe that? Anyway, he said his old man sent him to do us in, but apparently he decided it wasn't a good idea."

Harry thought hard about this; perhaps Draco Malfoy was starting to realize the faulty logic of pureblood fanaticism. He made a mental note to re-visit the idea of sending his old school rival a letter. At this point, Hermione and her parents returned, bearing several large suitcases.

"I told them I could fit most of it into my bag," she said to Ron, who looked bemused. "But, they insisted that they wanted to use their own luggage. Parents."

Stan looked around at his passengers, and asked, "Where to now?"

Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, "The Burrow?" They looked back at Stan, "The Burrow."

"Next stop; the Burrow, outside of Ottery St. Catchpole," said Stan, in full swing. He put the Knight Bus into gear, and they were off with a lurch and a _BANG._


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter X

Foresight

The Knight Bus took the most direct route it could find, first speeding across the Outback, then, with another loud noise they were suddenly in Dubai. Ron, Hermione and her parents all stared out the window in awe. The Grangers seemed to be quite alarmed by the speed of the vehicle, as it weaved in between pedestrians and cars. However, Hermione was keeping a close eye on them, and would every so often remind them "magic _can_ do that."

Harry, on the other hand, was watching his friends, with a satisfied smile. Ginny nudged him gently.

"Knut for your thoughts?" she asked.

"Just glad," said Harry, simply. "Everything is going to be fine. I have family, friends, and a life free of monsters. I have so much to be grateful for, and I'm just getting started."

Ginny smiled; it was good to see such weight lifted from Harry's shoulders. He seemed to give of an aura of contentment. She pecked him on the cheek.

"I'm grateful for you," she said.

Harry turned and looked into her soft eyes. He felt warmth spread within him and his smile grew.

"I have made a decision about what I want to do with my future. I think I will go work for the Ministry. If I can become an Auror, I can make sure I do everything I can, so that there will never be another wizard the likes of Voldemort."

There was conviction in his voice. He knew that the path before him wouldn't be easy, but he looked back over the past few years, and found strength and assurance that he could stand and face the challenge. It was a change within him that he was just now beginning to understand. With Voldemort's fragment of soul embedded within him, there was the smallest bit of self-doubt and fear, which always had a presence in his heart. Now, Harry's heart was free of that self-doubt.

"I'm not surprised," said Ginny, smiling still. "Despite what Ron might say, the world needs 'Hero Harry' to defend it."

"You really think so?" said Harry. "I mean surely there won't be too many Dark wizards left that would be a threat."

"Well, if you think about it, there still would be. Those that didn't join the Death Eaters have likely been in hiding, waiting for the chance to rise to power when Voldemort was gone. Also, there's the possibility that another might come along and try to revive what Voldemort had attempted."

Harry was shocked, not just for the plain, matter-of-fact response, but from the realization that she had a point.

"Of course," she continued, "we are getting ahead of ourselves, Harry. There's still the inquiry about Gringotts."

"Oh, right…" Harry said glumly, having forgotten that small grey cloud on the horizon. "Wait… Who told you?"

Ginny bit her lip, "Hermione, right before they left."

Harry sighed, "Well, I guess we can put my career on hold. I'll have to tell Bill he was right about goblins; nothing but trouble."

Ginny giggled, "You sound like Godric, himself."

Harry smiled, "Well, I was running all over Britain with his sword, maybe some of him rubbed off."

"Oooh, that reminds me, we should write Neville."

The sudden tangent surprised him.

"Sure, we can do that. Actually, you can write to him. Tell him I said thanks for everything. He'll know what it means. I have a bit of writing I need to do, myself," He leaned over and tapped Hermione's shoulder.

"Do you have parchment and two quills?" he asked.

"In my bag, hold on," Hermione rummaged in her beaded bag, and produced quills, ink and parchment.

Writing wasn't always the best task to attempt on the Knight Bus, but Harry used a clever Steadying Charm to ease the sway of the armchairs in which they were seated. He then conjured two small writing tables. Ginny looked impressed.

"McGonagall would have handed you the House Cup on the spot if you had ever pulled that off at school," she said.

They set to their writing. Harry was taking the easier of two letters first:

_Dear Dudley,_

_ I'm not quite sure what to say, so I'll just make it short. I've heard you want to talk to me. If you have time, we can meet up in London. Just write back to_

He paused. He had doubts that a postman would be able to find the front door of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, let alone the mail slot. He scratched out the last three words.

_Just __write back to__ be at Charing Cross Road, 3pm, June 18__th__. _

_ Harry_

_ PS. I'm sure your father will have read this before you do, be sure to leave him at home. I can tolerate you, but him… I need to think about that._

Harry folded the letter, and took out his wand. He cast a simple charm on the paper that would only show the post-script to Dudley Dursley, and none other. The next letter was going to be more difficult. He inked his quill, and paused for a moment.

_Mister Draco Malfoy,_

_ I know I am probably the last person you had expected, or even desired, to receive a letter from. I know you may have quite a bit on your mind, and I do not want to take up too much of your time. If you like, we can have words. Meet me at the Leaky Cauldron, 4pm, June 18__th__._

_Cordially,_

_Harry Potter_

_PS. I've taken the liberty of charming this letter in the interest of discretion. Please dispose as you see fit._

He thought he had been a bit too formal, but he figured that the pureblood Malfoy would see it as a sign of goodwill. He performed the Concealing Charm and tucked it away. By this point, the Knight Bus had cleared most of Asia and the Middle East, and was performing a sudden jump across a section of the Mediterranean Sea. They were now moving through Italian villas and rolling hills. Harry heard say something to her husband about a vacation. The reply made him chuckle.

"What do you call this?" Mr. Granger said. "This should count as five vacations. We've seen Sydney, India, Baghdad, Cairo, and now Rome,"

"If you like, I can swing past Paris," said Stan, twiddling the steering wheel to avoid a speeding Ferrari, which they cruised past with ease. A few sudden jumps later, the Arc De Triomphé loomed into view. Harry took Ginny's hand, "Stan, swing by the Eiffel Tower. Stop at the bottom."

Hermione and Ron exchanged a confused look, as they followed Harry, Ginny and Hermione's parents toward the elevators that took them to the top of the tower.

"You don't think Harry set this up, do you?" Hermione asked Ron in a whisper.

"Well…," said Ron, ponderingly, "If he did, I would have to give him credit."

"And… You're not at all concerned?" Hermione said. "If he's doing what I think he's doing."

"Why would I be concerned?" asked Ron. "If he proposes, you and I both know Ginny will say yes. Objecting to it would make me look like an ass."

"Ron, it's about time you said something logical. But, she's a bit young, don't you think?"

"Not really," said Ron, shaking his head. "Look at Bill and Fleur, they're only a few years older than us. Besides, it's not as though they have to get married right away. Loads of wizard couples go for the early engagement, and hold off on the wedding. Bill and Fleur rushed it, because of the way things were at the time. And, besides," he grimaced, "Mum will be thrilled for the opportunity to have another wedding."

Hermione shrugged, guessing that certain Muggle traditions had different wizarding counterparts.

"What about us?" she asked, thinking it an innocent question.

"Erm… what?" said Ron, not entirely paying attention as they boarded the lift.

"When do you think…?" she trailed off.

"Oh… Well, I hadn't thought about it… You know me, clueless Ron."

"It doesn't really matter," Hermione said, quietly. "I was just curious."

"I don't want to ruin the surprise," Ron said. "You'll know it when you see it."

There was silence as the lift started upward. Mister and Mrs. Granger exchanged a look of excitement.

"I can't believe this is happening," said Mrs. Granger, beaming and wide-eyed. "We're in Paris. It's like a second honeymoon."

"Looks like I can cross that off the list, then," said Mr. Granger, with a satisfied smile and a wink toward Harry, who grinned back.

They had been travelling, for the most part, due west toward the sunset, at a rate which had effectively allowed them to keep up with the sun. However, the last remnants of light were fading, and the first stars of the night were appearing in the sky over Paris. They stepped out onto the viewing platform, the breeze stirring around them. Ron and Hermione gaped at the view, and then looked at each other.

"Again, I have to give him credit," said Ron, as quietly as possible.

Harry and Ginny were looking out at the view, hand in hand. Harry leaned over and whispered something to her.

"I love you, just so you know."

Ginny looked back at him, joy and surprise lighting up her face.

"I already knew," she said, warmly. "I love you too."

They exchanged a small kiss. Ginny smiled shyly.

"My brother…" she said, "Three feet away; can be a bit of a mood killer."

"Right…" he said. He didn't look in their direction, but he hoped that the gesture he made with his other hand got the message across.

Hermione steered Ron over to her parents, who had taken up a spot on the northern side of the tower. Ron shook his head; not entirely upset.

"He's got something up his sleeve. It may not be a ring, but he has something on his mind," he murmured to Hermione.

"Obviously," she scoffed. "Why are you so interested all of a sudden? I thought you were okay with it."

"I am," Ron murmured dismissively. "I just want to know exactly what he's up to. Now that I think about it, he should have at least asked for a blessing. Dad, ideally, but I would have liked to have been in the loop, too."

"I'm sure your parents wouldn't have any objections," Hermione said. "Harry's already like family. This would just make it official."

Meanwhile, Harry and Ginny had resumed their moment together, under the twilight and breeze of Paris in springtime. As cliché as it was, the moment felt right. Harry took Ginny's hands in his, and looked into her eyes.

"You remember the day we first met," he said.

"Of course," she said, "I was 10, and you were just starting Hogwarts."

"And then you spent the year after stalking me," he said, slyly.

"And unleashing the monster in the Chamber of Secrets," she added. Harry frowned.

"Forget about that for now," he said, gently. "Focus on the happiness. Think about the time we shared."

Ginny thought for a moment, "I remember one time, in Dumbledore's Army, you were after Cho, at the time, but there was one lesson, you said something to me, do you remember it?"

"Courage can come in all shapes and sizes," repeated Harry.

"That's what kept me going," she said, nodding and smiling. "When you were gone on the run, I would remember those words, and the sound of your voice. It helped me fight, kept me from losing hope."

She was crying, now. This most definitely wasn't what Harry had intended.

"It's okay," said Harry, comfortingly. "I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere. I could never leave your side for long,"

They kissed again, Ginny's tears abating.

"In fact," Harry continued, "I've been thinking about that…"

He wasn't sure if it was going overboard, but he carefully lowered himself onto one knee.

"Ginny, you and I have been through so much, both together and apart. The time we've been together has been the happiest I've ever found. The time we've been apart has been torture. I'm sure I might already know the answer, but I have to know. Will you marry me?"

Ginny gasped, she looked at Harry in surprised shock, "Really?"

"Really," said Harry, firmly. His nerves were like live wires.

"I – I… Well… _Yes!_" said Ginny, at last, bursting into laughter.

"Yes?" Harry repeated, even though he had heard it plainly.

"Yes," said Ginny, and she kissed him again.

Ron nudged Hermione, "You lose."

Hermione begrudgingly pulled two sickles from her beaded bag, "I figured she would have been sensible, but I guess that was too much to ask for. I mean, honestly? Engaged at sixteen? My mother would be on the war path."

"Perhaps," said Mrs. Granger, "But remember this: Love is like a dance. Some people move to a faster rhythm."

With everything that Hermione had been through the past few weeks, her mother's words had struck a chord. She nodded, and smiled slightly, watching fondly as two of her best friends continued to fall madly in love.


End file.
